To Rise and Fall
by Olive Tree Hugger
Summary: The sequel to "She Will Rise Again". The Heylin and Xiaolin sides are back to normal-fighting the endless battle of good and evil. But what happens when an even greater force threatens to throw everything off balance? (Chase/OC, Raikim)
1. The Multiply Tour Pt 1

**Author's note: Hey, guys! So, what'd you all think of "She Will Rise Again"? When I finished it I was a little unsatisfied. There were a lot of things I still wanted to address. Anastasia was supposed to have something big to do with the Russian government, nothing controversial. Well, maybe a little. I wanted to give each character a little more development, I wanted to bring back Wuya, and talk more about Anastasia and Sophie's backstories, but there wasn't enough time. That's why I started this. This is a lot like a sequel, but also a little dump where I can throw any Anastasia/Xiaolin Showdown-related prompts here. Overall, they will be related. So...the ending is indefinite, but it'll be a better ride than "She Will Rise Again". **

**The first part of this story is gonna be a three part stravaganza called "The Multiply Tour" featuring my favorite singer right now...Ed Sheeran. Now before you turn off your computer and walk away forever, let me assure you: no Eds were harmed in the making of this. He almost was, but then I said nah. I did not make him in love with my OC, nor I did not reveal him as some kind of magical addition to the Xiaolin team. He's just Ed Sheeran, coolin' like the chill mofo he is, and his tour is the event that the story majorly takes a part of. This is part 1 of the Multiply Tour.**

**So let's go! Gong Yi Tempai :D**

* * *

The sound of car doors slammed outside the mansion. Two pairs of leather shoes scuffled against the pavement. One pair striding impatiently, the pounding of her heels exuding authority, while the footsteps behind her were hesitant, apologetic even.

"Stepania, I'm telling you, the house was haunted. There was blood everywhere. _Everywhere!_ Dripping from the ceiling, oozing from the walls, if you walked into the kitchen you were basically swimming in it!"

"No one has lived in this mansion for over a year, Tamar. The owner is deceased. If there was blood here, then there must have been a bloody murder here, correct?"

The agent shoved her freezing hands into the pockets of her coat and answered sheepishly, "Yes."

Her partner knowingly smirked, "And were there reports of movement in or out of the house by neighbors?"

"No."

Stepania patted Tamar's golden hair and said, "Come on, we have to collect this woman's belongings already. I can't believe it's been a year since anyone looked into this case."

The younger agent started to protest but swallowed it. In a few moments, the brunette would open the door and find the horror she had just a month ago when she came to offialize the government's repossession of this mansion. It was a glorious one at that, painted a soft shade of rose, with the neo-classic revival's taste echoed in the windows and moldings. There was an iron gate overgrown in wild roses and thorns in front of them, which Stepania carelessly kicked open.

The blonde gulped down the lump in her throat. "The ghost wouldn't like that," she murmured.

Rolling her eyes, Stepania muttered, "Why exactly did the city pair me up with a superstitious idiot like you?"

"I wasn't an idiot that night your fiancée dumped you," Tamar shot back, quickening her pace to catch up to her partner.

Stepania flared her nostrils and exhaled deeply. She approached the front door, and grasped the door knob. She heard Tamar's frightful gasp and sneered. Purposefully, she let go of the handle and took a few steps back. She delivered a vicious kick to the structure and watched in delight as it crashed down.

She smirked._ This_ was why high heels were invented.

Tamar slowly removed her hands from her face and watched Stepania plod into the mansion. She took a step forward, heart pounding, and whispered, "Is it safe?"

The brunette scoffed, "Yeah. And look at that, Tamar. No blood!"

She threw her arms up and tilted her head back, adding, "Nothing at all, not even on the ceiling! I told you you were overreacting."

Embarrassed, the blonde ambled inside, walls down. "Yeah, I guess. I watched Saw V the night before. I guess it doesn't help when you walk into a dead person's dark house the next day."

An amused grin bloomed onto Stepania's face. "That's it, no more scary movies for you."

Tamar shook her head, "Hey, I don't tell you what to do!"

The older woman turned her back to her and looked around, noting the shadows bathing the elegant furniture in complete darkness. A faint stream of light gathered in the middle of the room, likely from the skylight above. Then Stepania saw the beautiful staircase swirling down to meet them just a few feet away. She gestured towards it, saying, "Let's start upstairs and work our way down."

Nodding, the younger woman replied, "You think there's an attic here?"

"Doubt it, but maybe."

As they started walking, Stepania's brown eyes locked onto the crystal chandelier hanging above their heads, swaying ever so slightly as though a ghostly fingertip had nudged it.

She shook her head and kept walking, reaching into her leather coat. She pulled out her file, flipping through it. She still had three houses to get through before her three day weekend would officially start. Luckily, Tamar had Friday off. Maybe the two could go out for coffee...

Something wet plopped onto the tip of Stepania's nose. Perplexed, the woman stopped and glanced up.

A pool of blood was seeping out of the ceiling, magnifying in seconds. Stepania felt a scream form in her chest. Instead, she called out her partner's name, "Tamar, do you see what I see?!"

She heard heels clacking frantically against the linoleum floor, turning to see the blonde fleeing the mansion. Stepania stared back at her in disbelief before she felt wetness drizzle onto the top of her head and all over the file in her hands. The over powering scent of metal filled her nostrils and blood started raining from the ceiling, bathing her in it.

Stepania let out a bloodcurdling scream, literally, the blood_ flinched_ when she let out that sound and she abandoned the file, rushing out after Tamar, her screams testimony to her vow of never returning again.

When the sound of the woman's screaming subsided with the screeching of car tires in the distance, the pool of blood forming at the bottom of the staircase thickened and grew, reaching for the ceiling as it widened and percolated backwards, pouring back into the pale flesh of a woman.

In seconds, all the loose blood in the room had disappeared back into Anastasia's body. The woman straightened her coat out and sighed at the sight of her unhinged front door. She flexed her calloused fingertips at it and watched with mild pride as red and purple magic overtook it, rehanging the door in its rightful place. Then she picked up the file and stared at it, tempted to disintegrate it between her hands right then and there. Then her problems would all disappear, right? Since her mother's death, the city had been desperate in its attempt to repossess the house. Apparently Sophie had used up her trust fund in fits of gambling and scamming. How else could she provide her beloved child with so many wondrous treasures? Sophie always told Anastasia that she'd earned her money fair and square.

Perhaps, but honesty was never her mother's strong suit.

The witch contemplated bringing this file to Jack. Her cousin had become a business tycoon like his parents, holding the title of CEO of his own robotics company.

Jack _would_ know what to do about it. He could help, but then again, Old Grammy Spicer was on her deathbed. Jack's paternal grandmother was a saint, caring for the boy when he was left alone by his parents, which was often. Then she developed Alzheimer's, and it slowly ate away at the woman's brain.

It devastated Spicer family. And to bring her own financial problems into this would just be disrespectful. No, she would just come back to it. Leaving something for a while and then coming back to it later often helped Anastasia's mind jog an idea or two.

She tucked the file under her arm and teleported to her apartment in downtown Moscow. The quaint, quiet apartment building where she lived was her refuge from the stressful world she lived in. She could come here after work, or training and curl up in bed with Kuzya, ear pressed to his hairy chest, listening to his tiny heart beat as she fell asleep.

"Kuzya!" Anastasia cupped her hands around her mouth and called. "Come here, now!"

No answer came. She pouted and snapped her fingers, magically summoning him. She smirked when her magic came floating into the living room, carrying a very confused and annoyed black cat to her arms.

"There you are," she cooed, letting the cat drop into her arms.

He clung to her shoulders, digging his claws into her shoulders. Wincing, Anastasia grunted, "You big baby."

Regardless, she loved this stupid, cowardly cat. She found him lapping up an iced-over puddle of spilled coffee in the streets one cold night and picked him up into her arms. He had been a fragile, skinny little bag of flesh and fur. Anastasia decided to keep him. After all, witches needed familiars, and what better familiar than a black cat?

She planted a kiss to his face and let him crawl onto the floor. "I'm going to work tonight, so I'm leaving you a bowl of food on the counter" she told him.

The cat's huge gray eyes widened even further, as if horrified that his mommy would leave his food so up high, where he couldn't reach it. Anastasia saw that look and grumbled, "Oh, please, I've seen you climb _rocks_ higher than this. Besides, if I put it on the floor, you'll just make a mess. And I _know_ you won't clean it."

Kuzya meowed bitterly at her before slinking off. Anastasia sighed, eyes glancing at the diamond shaped clock on the wall. It was almost four in the afternoon. Her gig started at six. It was her biggest performances yet, opening up for _Ed Sheeran._

She wasn't singing, although she could carry a tune and mixed it in to her performances from time to time. She was performing an illusions show. Magic tricks essentially. After she got a good hold on her magic, toying with all the possibilities that time and space gave her, she started showing off simple tricks to people on the subway (but don't ask her why she was on the subway when she'd gladly show off her teleportation skills). People started offering her money to make their hats disappear, turn their beards purple, or other silly requests. Eventually Anastasia gained a bit of a rep and started performing in popular theaters. Critically acclaimed performances, famous guests, paparazzi flocking backstage, the whole bit. That's when a well-known internet blogger filmed her show, put it on the internet, and there it was finally found by the red-headed European singer. He was enamored with her work and practically pleaded for her to come visit.

And she was supposed to be there an hour ago for makeup and prop set-up. Little did they know, Anastasia could easily flick her wrist and have her makeup flawlessly set in. And props? _Please_. Anastasia could conjure up an entire replica of Buckingham Palace without so much as a yawn. But, for the sake of her image as an illusionist and nothing more (for no mere human could find out about the magical world), she had to get there, and _soon._

Quickly, the witch grabbed her essentials and teleported to Perth, Australia, in the boiler room of the arena. She quickly disheveled herself to make it look like she came off a grueling sixteen hour flight and materialized a suitcase for herself. She then made her way up to where the agent told her to meet with them.

* * *

Backstage was truly where all the magic happened. People were setting up for the show, setting up lights, climbing ladders, placing her requested props (colored smoke, mirrors, bouncy balls the size of elephants, crystals, etc.) in their proper places.

Others were running around, yelling into ear pieces while they drank their stale coffee. That's where she spotted the coordinator for the show, whom she'd recognized from Skype. The two made eye contact and he waved her over.

"Miss Petre, how ya doin', love?" He asked, his cockney accent thick as his black-rimmed glasses.

She nodded with a smile, "I'm doing alright. You?"

He sighed, running his fingers through his greasy hair. Anastasia spotted dark sweat stains over his underarms. "Stressed, love. Very stressed. Why don't you go to the makeup room; Vera's there now. She's a great makeup artist. She'll make you a queen. Here's a backstage pass as promised."

The makeup room was a little cramped, with four makeup artists, several racks of costumes, and dozens of people waiting in line to get made up for the show. She fingered her backstage pass and wiggled her fingers just slightly, placing a locator spell. Any second now the one named Vera would light up like a Christmas tree.

And that's what happened. Sort of. A dim halo of red emanated from the body of a freakishly tall, slight woman setting up her makeup table. Her short black hair was cropped close to her head except for the bangs, which fell like a curtain over her slanted eyes. Anastasia smirked and ambled towards her, introducing herself.

Vera nodded wordlessly, waving her hands at the chair. Anastasia obediently sat down and let the makeup artist do her work. Secretly, she kind of liked having the brushes skim across her skin and the feeling of someone's hands trailing through her short, dark red hair. As a teenager, her mother rarely let her leave the house unless she was going to a competition or something else of that nature, and with that came the minimal amount of makeup and hair spray. It didn't make her feel any less pretty, but she did really like what makeup did for her.

It went on for about twenty minutes, as Vera started adding extra layers of eye shadow, blending the olive, black and gold so beautifully it made Anastasia wonder.

"So...what look are you going for?" She asked, tilting her head to look at her.

The woman rolled her eyes and exhaled sharply, as if Anastasia was cutting into her precious time. But nevertheless she fished a paper out of her apron and handed it to her. When Anastasia saw the paper she burst out giggling.

Vera made a confused noise. The witch covered her mouth and gave her the paper. "I'm sorry, it's beautiful, keep going," she apologized, swallowing her giggles. She knew the colors looked familiar! Well, she knew Chase Young had fan art of him all over the internet but she had no idea someone did a gender-bent, anime version of him!

As the minutes went on, someone trudged in and plopped into the chair next to her. Anastasia turned to look at them. At the same time, they turned to look at her.

Shaggy, orange hair, wide blue eyes, round cheeks, fair stubble peppering his face...Ed Sheeran!

"Hello," they greeted each other at the same time.

Ed was the first to introduce himself, . "It's so nice to meet you, Miss Petre. ...Did I say it right? I actually practiced saying your name, like I hear it being spoken all the time, you'd think I would get it by now."

Anastasia chuckled, taking his hand and squeezing, "It's so nice to meet you, too! And it's okay. Just call me Anna. Can I call you Ed? I'm a big fan of yours. This is such an honor."

"Ed's fine," he replied, sipping from his water bottle. "I can't wait to see what you've got set up. Your props look terrific, actually. I went mad trying to figure out how you make them disappear like that. And that one show where you played with everyone's sense of time, that one was fuckin' amazing, mate. You have such a gift."

Vera applied a blush to Anastasia's face and the witch laughed, "It's all about practice. That and listening to your instructors. You wouldn't _believe_ how many times my last teacher made my bed disappear when I couldn't get a trick right."

The singer gasped, "That's _brutal!"_

He continued to talk to her excitedly, when something big and yellow flashed behind his head. Anastasia quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side, trying to see what that was. Vera forcefully pulled her head back.

Ed confusedly looked behind him, asking, "What?"

She cleared her throat, a little embarrassed, "Oh, nothing. I just...uh...saw something. It's nothing. Do go on."

The singer shrugged and continued speaking nonchalantly as another makeup artist touched him up quickly. Anastasia tried to listen, but the she saw a huge ten gallon hat walk by, followed by spiky brown hair, and fuchsia curls.

Oh, _no._

Trying to rein in her panic, Anastasia sprung up from her seat and asked Vera half-heartedly, "Are we done?"

The makeup artist gave up, throwing her tools on the floor and stomping away. Anastasia then leaned over to kiss Ed's cheek, apologizing, "I'm so sorry, Ed, truly. I have to go tend to something. I'll be back!"

Leaving a confused ginger behind, the witch ran off towards the sighting, hoping to the gods she wasn't witnessing a Xiaolin mission. She followed the heads as they strode through the crowd, finally relieved when they stepped into a clearing.

And by gods, it was them: Raimundo, Kimiko, Omi and Clay. Of course, the youngest monk didn't possess the sense to wear regular street clothing. Kimiko, on the other hand, was dressed head to toe in black and green, in honor of the tour, probably.

The witch sighed, grasped a set of t-shirts from a nearby rack and stomped over to them. She grasped the lead monk's shoulder, spinning him around. "What do you think you're doing here?" She demanded.

Raimundo's green eyes widened at the sight of her, his likely new nose ring reflecting the fluorescent lights above. "Anna! Como estão, bebê?" He asked, grinning wide, wrapping his arms around her waist and picking her up in an affectionate hug.

The Japanese monk behind him came up to embrace her, too. "Oh, my God, it's been _forever, _girl!" Kimiko squealed, sizing her up with her cerulean eyes. "You look amazing!"

"Thanks," Anastasia replied, her anger melting away fast. She'd really missed the monks. She handed them the shirts, to which they all thanked her gratefully. She just didn't want them sticking out like sore thumbs.

Clay took off his hat , accepting a shy hug. He asked, "What're you doin' here, miss lady?"

Even Omi got a hug before he gasped, "Are you looking for the," he lowered his voice, "_Shen Gong Wu_ as well?"

Anastasia's red eyes widened. "Wu? Here? Now?! Are you fucking serious...?" She pinched the bridge of her nose. Of _course_ the first time she would see her friends in a year would be when they were looking for Wu. And on the biggest night of her life thus far. _Damn_ that Grand Master Dashi, truly.

Suddenly, Dojo poked his head through Omi's gi and demanded, "What, everyone else gets a hug, but not me?"

Nearly shrieking, Anastasia commanded, "Dojo! Someone's going to see you!"

But it didn't stop her from patting his reptilian head. "It's so good to see you," she started apologetically. "But you can't be here. Do you know who's show this is?"

Kimiko's eyes all but turned into hearts. "Ed Sheeran!" She replied. "...Wait, you're the headlining performance? Aha, I knew it! I've seen your videos, you really got a hand for magic!"

Anastasia smirked, "Tell me about it. Anyway, I'm performing a show before the concert starts. I'm sorry but I can't have any unexpected duels ruining my performance. Please, _please_, find the Wu and go."

Looking slightly offended, Omi replied, "We've been looking for ten minutes and we still have not yet found it. We believe it's hiding place has been disturbed."

Exasperated, the witch sighed, "Alright, what is it?"

Dojo explained, "It's called the Pearl of Lai Bai. It turns the opponents speech into poetry. Doesn't seem like a bad idea until you can't stop rhyming. And what happens when you run out of rhymes? What then?"

Anastasia rubbed her chin as she stared at the scroll's depiction of the Wu, agreeing to help find it before someone else did.

The group split up, but not before the witch materialized backstage passes for them all. Minutes turned into an hour, before they regrouped outside the arena.

"Anyone see it?"

"Nope."

"Nadda."

"I reckon not."

Anastasia crossed her arms and sighed, "I have no idea where it could possibly be, but I have to get back to my show."

Raimundo nodded, "It's okay. We'll find it. Good thing it's not a dangerous Wu or else we'd have real trouble on our hands."

She agreed before taking off, arriving backstage with a flash of magic.

"Whoa!" A familiar voice marveled.

Feeling her heart stop, Anastasia turned to see Ed chewing on a bagel behind her, watching her in awe.

"Were you practicing?" He asked, eyes glittering.

She nodded weakly. "Yes?"

Ed nearly dropped his bagel on the ground fishing something out of his hoodie's pocket. "Listen I hate to be_ that_ bloke, but can you do something with it? Like, make it disappear or something?"

Anastasia nearly kissed the singer when she saw the dual ended Wu sitting in the palm of his hand. "I don't know what it is, but it's so pretty, you know?"

A light bulb lit up in her head and the witch took the Wu from him, twisting her fingers around to make a show of it. In seconds, the Wu had disappeared altogether, hopefully into Omi's hands. That would curb the panic for now.

"Amazing!" Ed yelled, clapping his hands. "You're a goddess!"

"Ed!" The agent's voice yelled, pulling the singer away, but not before he told Anastasia for the hundredth time how impressed he was.

The witch sighed in relief as he ran off. That's when she saw the monks slinking by, Omi holding up the Wu in excitement and Raimundo blowing her a thankful kiss. She waved at them.

But then, they didn't leave. Instead, Kimiko skittered over to her and said, "It's okay if we stick around to watch you, right?"

Anastasia shrugged, "I don't see why not. Just please don't do anything to embarrass me."

Raimundo came up behind her, feigning offense. "I'm hurt, bebê! You know we wouldn't do something like that to you!" He suddenly pulled something out of his sleeve and tried to chuck it in her face.

She expertly dodged it, letting it land on Omi's round head. It was a cupcake, from the concession stand outside.

The monks laughed and the Brazilian wondered, "Your reflexes are gettin' sharp, Anna. Where did you learn that?"

"Well, you all remember Chase, right?" Anastasia revealed after mulling it over for a few moments. "He trained me, well, sort of."

Gasping, the monks stared at her._ "What?"_

The witch put her hands on her hips. "What? Didn't he promise not to attack you for helping him get rid of Shadow?"

"Still!" Omi protested, now munching on the cupcake. "Chase Young is heylin! You should not trust him!"

Anastasia grew a bit offended. "I never said I trusted him! He helped me control my curse and learn some martial arts, that's all." Suddenly she was very flustered, cheeks red. "It's not like I'm Xiaolin, anyways!"

The monks, even Dojo, gasped.

It had never been spoken verbally, but Anastasia was neither Heylin nor Xiaolin. She was more like her cousin Jack, who although had previously been on the Heylin side, was now neutral at best.

Anastasia didn't favor either. She didn't see a reason to. The world worked best as a scale, balancing good and evil. That's what she believed, anyways. Besides, Chase Young wasn't very nice to be around after a breakup as bad as his and Shadow's was. In fact, the whole debacle that was made public when Shadow tried to vanquish the immortal still weighed over Chase's shoulders. He was clearly uncomfortable with someone who saw him at his most vulnerable. Yes, Anastasia helped save his life. But she also heard some of his deepest, darkest secrets. That was the kind of paranoia that annoyed the witch so much that she had to leave every once in a while just to breathe.

That's when she felt bad. Despite what they'd been saying, the Xiaolin dragons had suffered a lot under the hand of the immortal. Acting like that didn't matter was cold.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I just took advantage of the offer he gave me."

They were all silent for a few moments before Dojo commented, "Yeah, well you're lucky he even offered you help in the first place."

Anastasia pouted. "I realize that," she retorted.

Suddenly a sweaty hand pressed into her shoulder, and the smell of stale coffee filled her lungs. "Miss Petre, you're on in twenty," the agent declared.

Angrily, she shook off him off her shoulder. "Then I have twenty minutes to get ready, don't I?" She seethed in response, suddenly _very_ confrontational.

The man backed off, but not before muttering a shrewd comment. Rolling her eyes, the witch turned back to the monks, but the space in front of her was empty.

They were gone.

* * *

She knew she didn't need this. She knew she could easily teleport home and lay in her bed with Kuzya as planned. But, looking at the sweet, soft-as-a-cloud white sheets of the hotel bed, Anastasia gave into sweet temptation.

The pillows took the brunt of her sheer force when she took a nose dive into the bed. As soon as she hit the mattress, the weight of today's work hit her full force. Her muscles ached almost violently. Her eyes burned, begging for shut-eye.

The performance went as expected: amazingly. Everything was loosely planned, because unlike fake magic, you didn't have to be sure where and when to perform your tricks to make sure nothing was off. Improv was a good way to turn sometimes when the crowd wasn't behaving. Tonight, Anastasia detached her own head and had it sing the "God Save The Queen" because they kept screaming like imbeciles.

Regardless of how much fun she'd had, the night had worn her out. Her head was spinning from the blaring white lights coming from the cellphones and overhead stage lights. She just wanted to rest.

A hefty, but hesitant, knock echoed against her door.

Groaning, she slid off the bed like a pile of white goo and dragged herself to the door, hoping it wasn't some paparazzi about to rattle her with questions, because that might give her a good excuse to kill someone tonight. She swung the door open, not taking the time to look at her visitor, before launching into a vicious threat.

When she was done, Anastasia adjusted her sight and saw Ed standing in front of her, looking as confused and slightly afraid as an elephant presented with a Stuart Little DVD. She immediately backtracked, apologizing nonstop and trying to straighten herself out. The singer's lips turned up in a crooked smile, because even though he was still puzzled, she looked like she could use a drink.

"Anna, sorry to bother you...but my mates and I are having a drink in the lobby, after party and what not. Do you wanna come?" He asked.

The albino smiled apologetically. "Oh, thank you, Ed...I'm really worn out tonight, I don't know if I should," she replied.

Ed looked only slightly disappointed before perking up, "Suit yourself, love. Good night."

As he ambled along, Anastasia started to close the door when she really gave the idea some thought. When was the last time she'd gone out with friends, or in this case, very attractive and talented rich people? She was sure Ed would have celebrity friends over, whom she could make deals with. After tonight, she use some extra promotion! After all, she wasn't letting loose anymore. The last time she really unwound and just had fun for the sake of having fun was when she lived with Jack, and he was busy, so why not?

She scrambled for her wallet and burst through the door, rushing down the hall and calling, "Ed, wait up!"

* * *

The after party was just what she expected, sort of dim, music playing the background (Ed's song, "_Don't_" to be precise), and booze everywhere. Thankfully it wasn't any cheap stuff. Anastasia appreciated the fine taste in wines, vodkas and scotches, presented. To her delight, OVAL vodka was sitting there just waiting to be served.

Greedily, she poured herself a glass and went around, mingling, occasionally putting on an air of "better-than-you-business-woman". That's one thing she learned from her mother: to be intimidating and classy as Hell. Occasionally, Ed would come up to her and ask how she was enjoying herself. And the most recent conversation she had with him was when they somehow brought up her disappearing act with the Pearl of Lai Bai.

"Where'd you find it?" Anastasia asked, sipping her OVAL.

Ed scratched his carrot orange locks, replying, "You'll think I'm crazy."

The Russian rolled her eyes and playfully pushed his shoulder, "You're talking to the woman who decapitated herself on stage. C'mon, tell me!"

Smirking, the singer seceded, "I was walking down the street to grab a coffee when some twat grabbed me from behind and shoved it in my face. He told me to get rid of it. He was like, 'Hey ginger, make this disappear or I'll kill you!', making strange arm movements and growling mockingly. I didn't know what he was on about, but he looked dangerous so I just took it."

Curious, Anastasia thought about who could possibly have possession of the Pearl of Lai Bai before it was even activated. Unless, of course, that someone could sense Wu and didn't want the monks to find it for one reason or another.

Her eyes narrowed as she thought of the possibilities. There was a certain man who most certainly _did_ look dangerous who liked to stash Wu from time to time and most certainly did _not_ like the monks.

"Anna?" The singer questioned, tilting his head to the side.

She blinked her rubicund eyes. "Sorry, I was just thinking about something," she replied.

Ed smirked, "You get distracted easily, don't you?"

Faking a smile, Anastasia excused herself with the excuse of refilling her drink. As soon as she neared the OVAL, though, she dematerialized, leaving behind a full glass of clear vodka to be knocked over by an overexcited drunkard.

When she opened her eyes again, the witch was in the middle of Chase Young's throne room, which was currently inhabited by the warlord, and several jungle cats.

Everyone in the room turned to look at Anastasia like she'd stumbled in on a secret meth cooking session. She crossed her arms and glared at her most recent teacher, who'd last made the impression that he was too busy to see her in the last few weeks. Too busy, indeed.

After a few minutes of awkward, tense silence, Chase finally cleared his throat and took a step closer to the witch. "Anastasia, to what do I owe the pleasure of this most unexpected visit?"

Normally, Anastasia would at least try to act civil with the warlord because he was usually civil with her, but not today. His shady inner workings did not bode well with her.

"Don't act like you don't know," she accused. "Why did you give the Pearl of Lai Bai to Ed Sheeran?"

"_Who?"_ Chase inquired, more perplexed than offended.

Anastasia glared at him, obviously unthreatened by the slow advancement of the jungle cats around her. "He said a very dangerous-looking man had given him the Wu and told him to get rid of it."

Smirking, Chase turned back to his book, and licked his thumb, leisurely folding the page closed. "Anastasia, there are billions of people who are 'dangerous-looking' out there, but I am charmed that you came to _me_ first. As for the Pearl of Lai Bai, I have no particular use for that Shen Gong Wu. This "Ed Sheeran" of yours encountered another man. I'm sorry you had to come all the way here just to hear that."

"_No you're not_," she thought to herself. That was another thing about Chase Young, he could be so condescending!

As she turned to leave, a very familiar voice sounded in her ears.

"Alright, C.Y., your place is all hooked up. You've got 1,000 channels and the fastest wifi known to man...and dragon."

Like the exorcist, Anastasia did a near 180 degree turn with her head when she heard Jack's voice. She spotted the albino man hanging from a wire, slowly descending to the floor.

Gritting her teeth, she muttered, "What happened to your dying Grammy, Jack?"

The young man locked eyes with her and gulped, "Oh, hey, Anna! Um, Grammy Spicer's been doin' pretty good these last few days. They took her off the ventilator yesterday. They're discharging her from the hospital on Wednesday."

Chase had the humor to join in, "Isn't that good news, Anastasia?"

Her arm burning, Anastasia accepted the fact that she'd been duped. Old Grammy Spicer wasn't dying; let's face it, that woman had a will of steel and would refuse to die even if it was her time. Jack just blew her off with a crummy but sensitive excuse. That was it wasn't it? She practically clung to Jack and his family since her mother's death. He must have been sick of her being in his face all the time.

How _embarrassing._

Anastasia did her best to hide her warm, reddening face from the two men and teleported back to her hotel room, where the heat from her face pooled into her tattooed arm. A few stray tears of humiliation leaked from her eyes. One of them dripped onto the tattoo and she felt a surging rush of force.

_Fun tonight?_ The voice rasped.

She sighed, "I don't know."

_Come now,_ it replied. _You need the time off, and I need to feed. Let's go have some fun._

_"Okay..." _she submitted, transforming in a flash of dark magic. Her demon form had a horrible case of the munchies, and there were dozens of people in the city right now full of energy.

Maybe she could turn this day around yet.

* * *

**Author's note: Ta-dah! Part one of the Multiply Tour installment already finished. This puppy took me three days. I don't know when the next one will me up, but if it's as long as this one, don't count on it being this month. I'm so swamped with school these days it's an absolute nightmare. Oh well, at least Ed Sheeran's havin' a nice time. I don't know why but I feel like I could trust him. Anyways please review, loves!**


	2. The Multiply Tour Pt 2

**Author's note: So... part 2 of the Multiply Tour is now underway! More Ed Sheeran! More sneaky Jack and Chase! More freaky demons? Yes! Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts! Stay safe and enjoy, friends!**

* * *

Anastasia woke up with a massive headache that morning, sprawled unceremoniously on her bed. She could feel something sharp pinching the skin of her back, so she slowly and drowsily lifted her head and turned to see Kuzya staring back at her with his accusative, slit glare.

"Don't do it," she growled.

His gaze never breaking away, Kuzya sunk his claws into her right shoulder blade. The witch shrieked in pain, leaping from the bed and grasping the area. She felt for wetness and pulled her hand back, relieved to see that the cat had not broken skin. Still, it hurt like a mother fucker.

She pouted at him, "I know I came home late_ again_ but that's no reason to hurt me. I am your mistress, and familiars don't hurt their mistresses!"

A rude meow left the cat's mouth and Anastasia rolled her eyes in response. Her head still pounded as she swept into the kitchen, looking for something to stuff in Kuzya's mouth before he got sassy with her again. Her first instinct though, was to make coffee. Most people drank it after a really bad hangover, but this was no regular hangover. Whenever Anastasia let her demon feed, she would wake up with a skull-splitting migraine and less energy than usual mornings. And for the past few nights, the witch had really been letting it loose lately.

She opened all the cupboards, cabinets and Lazy Susan's, but found no java anywhere. Groaning, she realized she must have drunk it all last time she transformed. Now she'd have to go and get more or else the headache would last until sunset. She couldn't put it off now since..._shit_. She had another gig today and she didn't have the luxury of showing up fashionably late. There were two performances. One for the tour and one separate, private-event sort of thing. She actually didn't check the calendar date when she made both appointments, and Anastasia was usually good with those things.

Kuzya sauntered in and meowed at her, indicating that he was hungry. "Alright, you idiot, hold on," she spat back, pulling out a sack of cat food.

She poured a small hill of sustenance into the cat's bowl, remembering to remain generous. Eating was the only thing that made this feline happy. The witch supposed it was because he was so used to starving that the very thought of being even slightly hungry now was a terror.

As he ate, Anastasia trudged back to her bedroom and stripped herself of last night's clothes. She pulled her previously worn clothing out of the heap she'd thrown them in at the bottom of the closet and tossed them in the hamper. They were stained with blood, coffee and cat hair. Ugh, she couldn't even pull herself together anymore. Since that night at Chase's citadel, hearing her own family giggle at her expense with the likes of the draconian warlord, she'd been more bitter than usual.

It wouldn't have stung so much if Jack hadn't blatantly recycled that lie over and over again to keep her away. Hell, she'd lived her entire childhood and adolescence in seclusion, save for the rare vacations her mother sent her on (and even those were carefully monitored and made busy with competitions and conferences); Anastasia was used to being alone. And that would have been fine if Jack had just _told_ her to leave him alone.

And the nerve of Chase Young, who'd only known her for what, a year? It wasn't much less than Jack, but fucking_ whatever_. The immortal had the gall to snicker at her expense. And all this time she thought he was busy plotting when he was off gallivanting with _her_ cousin, laughing at her behind her back, getting fucking WIFI for his stupid citadel. What did a dragon lord need wifi for anyways?!

And it didn't help that she hadn't spoken to the monks since that night. Insulting people, unless it was warranted, was not something Anastasia liked to do. She wasn't a mean person. She wasn't good at taking jokes, she was impatient, but she wasn't mean.

Maybe that was her problem all along. She wasn't mean enough. That would explain Wuya's reputation as a gloriously evil witch in the Heylin world: the bitch was_ mean_.

Anastasia's pale hands reached into the closet again to find something suitable, but not too elegant, for the tour. She wanted something to set the mood for tonight, something bold and enticing and _angry_, as she had been feeling for a long time now. Her fingers gripped something leathery and she grinned without even knowing what it was.

In minutes, Anastasia was dressed in a full-on black leather ensemble. Black leather motorcycle jacket (even though the albino was deathly terrified of the vehicles), black leather skirt that hugged her hips and just barely reached her mid-thigh, and a black leather bandeau with a fishnet midriff tucked neatly into the skirt. Tugging on with burgundy tights and knee-high, stiletto heeled boots, Anastasia could feel it come together. Popping in some black diamond hoop earrings and yanking some fishnet gloves on her hands completed the look.

And the makeup, ha! Vera couldn't do a better job even if she sold her soul to Sephora. Even the lipstick was such a dark tone of maroon that Anastasia was afraid of her own reflection. She looked, how would Jack say it? Ah, she looked the way an Arctic Monkeys song sounded.

Just then Kuzya ambled in, only to turn back around without skipping a beat.

_Good_, she thought, giving herself a smirk in the mirror.

Feeling the need to show herself off, Anastasia chose to walk to the corner bakery just down the street. She liked their coffee and they usually sold two for one on Thursdays. She made her way down the street, confidence building with every commanding "click" her heels made against the pavement.

She got a few stares, and a car even slowed down to let her pass when she wasn't even in its way. But the drama didn't begin until she entered the bakery.

A homey jingle welcomed her, as it always did, when she shoved the door in. Anastasia glared at the room, scanning the people in it, noting that her favorite cashier Maria wasn't there today. She had been replaced with some gangly, acne-ridden boy with a mop of chestnut brown hair hanging over his forehead.

Practically charging to the counter, the witch growled, "Where is she?"

"W-who?" The boy's meek voice replied, cracking from puberty. He looked both terrified and somewhat aroused by Anastasia's presence.

The witch glowered at him. "Maria, the usual girl! Where is she?"

The boy, who's name was Ilya as indicated by his nametag, swallowed. Anastasia watched his massive Adam's apple bob up and down with the movement. "Uhm, M-m-maria wa-wa-asn't f-feeling well? They-they a-a-asked me to f-f-fill in for her. C-can I h-h-help you?"

She rolled her eyes at his incessant stuttering and muttered, "Maria always knows what I want."

Ilya seemed to take this as some kind of invitation to flirt, because he immediately cleared his throat and said, "Just tell me what you want and I'll give it you" in a pathetic attempt at being sultry.

Anastasia narrowed her red eyes at him and replied, "What I really _want_ is your head on a pike, but then I wouldn't get any coffee. So give me ten packages of roasted hazelnut coffee and a large sized thermos for the road, two creams and a sugar." She noted the pastries lining the bottom shelf of the counter and added, "And throw in a paczek while your at it."

As Ilya fearfully scrambled to fulfill her order, Anastasia overheard that nifty jingle again. She turned subtly, watching in her peripheral vision as two very familiar government agents sauntering into the bakery.

"I can't believe we were demoted!" Tamar all but shouted, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. "It's not our fault the house is haunted! It's not fair"

Stepania sighed before shushing her companion. "It's not fair, I agree. But we shouldn't fly off the handle over it. I just need some coffee and I'll figure this out."

"I'm feeling espresso-y today," the blonde commented.

The brunette rolled her eyes, shoving her keys back into her purse. "Fine, but you better drink it all or I'm spilling the rest all over you."

A humored snort, "Just try it. This is _your_ blouse."

"M-ma'am?" Ilya whimpered, alerting the witch. "H-here's your order. That'll be twenty one rubles."

Anastasia paid the money owed and gathered her things in one bag, whilst clutching her thermos rather tightly as she passed by the two women. Her heart pounded furiously as she tried to keep a straight face. Thankfully, they were completely oblivious to her, but the witch didn't stop moving until she left the store. She'd be in the clear once she turned the corner. Just a little further, and...

"Excuse me! Excuse me, miss?" A shrill voice shrieked just a few feet away.

Flinching, the witch walked a little slower, pondering whether she should turn and face Tamar or make a break for it. But, she figured, with all this coffee in her hands she would surely make a mess.

"Misssss?" Tamar screamed as she grew closer to the albino.

Anastasia slowed her pace to a stop, before spinning around with the most stoic of stoic faces. "_What_?" She retorted coolly, as if the blonde's very existence was a nuisance. And frankly at the moment, it was.

Tamar could sense the frigidity of Anastasia's tone and her perky smile fell. She swallowed nervously and held her hand out, saying, "You dropped a few kopecks on the floor while you were walking out."

The witch suspiciously eyed the blonde's hand, where the metallic currency sat, before snatching it away and mumbling a quick, "Thanks".

She started to rush away, before Tamar called her back. This time, Anastasia was just plain irritated. "What, again?"

The agent's eyes roamed over Anastasia's form, almost uneasily. And for a moment, the witch thought Tamar would somehow recognize her (though how could she? Anastasia usually terrorized people in the form of blood), but then the blonde smirked and said, "_Love_ the leather."

She could swear she heard the sound of flirtation in there somewhere, but the albino was just relieved to be in the clear. Quickly, she rushed away until she disappeared behind the corner of the street. She took a luxurious sip of coffee to calm herself a little, nearly forgetting the splitting headache she had earlier. She made a quick mental note to never step out in public Moscow again, before making her way back home.

* * *

"...If you aren't comfortable here, you may leave," the warlord had said to her from across the dining table.

Anastasia froze mid-bite and glanced up at him. "What?" She asked.

Chase wiped the corners of his mouth and set the napkin down, saying, "I present no objections to your departure, that is, if you choose to leave now. I am aware that you are planning on returning home."

A scarlet red blush burned the young witch's cheeks. "How...?" She started to ask, but then she quieted. After six months as the immortal's apprentice, Anastasia had more than learned not to ask Chase about his knowing things.

Instead, she set her silverware down, replying, "They're trying to repossess my childhood home. As unhappy as my life was sometimes, that house is all I have left of it."

Thankfully, Chase seemed to understand this. He folded his hands on the table and said, "It is rather cumbersome to have something so dear to you taken away."

"I'm sure you know what that's like," the witch replied, though not intending it to sound so callous.

It went over Chase's head, or maybe it didn't, as he stood and declared, "You may leave whenever it suits you. I'm retiring for the night."

With that, Anastasia stood in response and wished him a good night. He ignored it. In his place came several jungle cats, clearing the table sans her plate. The albino plopped back in her chair, sighing. The warlord had been going to bed rather early these days. When she first arrived at the citadel, he was unusually pleasant, which could have been for the return of his soul. But very recently a dark cloud surrounded the immortal, figuratively of course. He became depressed, more withdrawn than usual. He didn't train with her as much, nor did he lecture on the importance of battle etiquette like he once did. There was suddenly no time to drink tea with her or discuss the pasts of his feline warriors-which Anastasia had truly come to enjoy in her time here.

Now Chase didn't even have to say it-he wanted her gone. She'd become a nuisance to deal with.

A burden.

Faced with a decision, she decided to call Jack. For the third time that week. She holed herself up in the room Chase had provided her with and dialed her cousin's number.

"_Hey, Anna_," he somberly greeted.

"Jack? You sound awful, are you okay?"

_"Yeah...it's just...Grammy is really sick...the doctors are saying this is a critical time for her."_

"Oh, Gods, I'm sorry. I'll be right over," she replied, already prepared to transmute herself wherever Jack was.

Her cousin nearly screamed, "_No!"_ before clearing his throat and clarifying, "_It's...it's kind of a 'Spicer's only' thing, Anna. Sorry."_

But the witch understood such sensitive matters. "I'm sorry. Please give my condolences to your family, then."

_"Thanks, cuz. I'll talk to you later."_

Anastasia heard the phone click and she was listening to a dull tone now. She sighed and right there, made her decision.

Once morning broke the next day, the witch set down her bag a the mouth of the citadel and gave a respectful bow to Chase, who simply nodded in return. With a last smile, Anastasia teleported her and her things back into her mother's home.

The feeling of nostalgia washed over her and she shuddered.

_Home._

* * *

Ed's expression said it all when the witch walked into the trailer. The ginger's eyes were on her face, then her body, then her feet, before snapping back up to her body.

"Whoa..." he murmured. "That's quite an outfit you got on."

The young woman merely grunted an "I know" before picking up the clipboard the singer had been reading over. Her rubicund irises glazed over the page before she sneered, "Eight-thirty tonight? I can't be here at eight-thirty, I have plans! I told that idiot agent to put me on earlier!"

Looking nervous and rejected, Ed pointed behind her, "Well there's your chance, love. Can't say it'll do any good, though."

Anastasia saw the greasy, fatigued agent flipping through a program and chugging a beer down and approached him menacingly.

At the sound of her heels, the man looked up and gasped, "Hello, there, love. Are you going for something risqué tonight?"

Resisting the urge to growl at him, she shoved the clipboard into his face. "I told you I didn't want the eight-thirty slot. Who took my seven-thirty?" She demanded.

Just then, a lanky and flimsy looking person (possibly a man, but by the look of their makeup, it was hard to tell), pranced into her view. He was pale, as in, white as a literal sheet, with perfect red circles on his cheeks. His black hair was coiffed and slicked back under a tiny black hat. His red and white turtleneck snugly fit over his skinny frame. A pair of sleek black pants covered his likely pale legs. He was making strange hand gestures and pulling himself along on an invisible rope.

It took her a moment to fit it together.

...She'd been replaced for a _mime._

Ed watched from afar as Anastasia verbally ripped apart his agent, screaming in English and then lapsing into Russian before the pitch of her voice fluctuated and she switched back to English. If it weren't so terrifying, the singer would have been chuckling. Instead, he slipped away from the trailer and further away from the stadium.

The stress that came with watching his opening act lose it was too much. Anastasia had been a little high strung lately. Of course, he didn't know her all too well, so maybe she'd always been that way? The Brit didn't know, and he didn't want to think of it. He preferred to think of the albino as a nice person, like he preferred to do with most people.

Striding down the street, Ed inhaled the cool evening air and felt a sudden urge take over him. He looked around, and seeing no objection, pulled a rolled up white paper from his jacket pocket. He leaned against a brick wall separating the side walk from a construction site and reached into his jean pockets.

His eyes widened and he muttered, "Ah, fuck."

"Need a light?" A smooth, but menacing, voice asked.

Ed nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the man sneak up behind him. He spun around and gasped, "It's you."

* * *

Stepania sighed as the stale taste of her third cup of coffee coated her tongue. She harshly set down the mug and flipped through another file. A soft snore echoed next to her. Tamar rolled over on the couch on the other side of the room. The blonde had been in a slump lately since their demotion, which really had been the most infuriating and unfair thing to ever happen to them.

Their superiors had turned their backs on them the moment they mentioned the supernatural being(s) plaguing that mansion. Had they at least seen the way the blood moved, they would've understood completely! Something was going on with that mansion, and if Stepania wanted her position back, she would have to prove it.

The first thing she did was collect every piece of information regarding that mansion and its last owner. It wasn't hard to find the dead woman, Sophie Ivanovna Petre, a woman born into the distinguished Petre family more than forty-something years ago. Her family fortune had been divided amongst her and her twin sister, who'd married into a rich American oil family and now resided in Hong Kong.

The brunette saved that information just in case she got the inkling that the sister had something to do with it. There were multiple records showing that Petre was involved in gang activity in her younger years. Multiple charges against her, though, were mysteriously dropped when she suddenly was sent to Serbia on a "family vacation".

What kind of a family sent their daughter to a frozen wasteland for a vacation? A family that wanted to erase her transgressions completely, that's what.

Stepania lost track of Petre after the last record dated in1988. The brunette took one last gulp of coffee and started shuffling through the papers frantically. The woman couldn't have disappeared that long ago!

That's when she found a newspaper clipping of Serena Ivanovna Petre's wedding to America's Jackson Spicer. Pictured was the lovely bride and her new husband, gripping a massive bottle of vodka. In the background of the grainy photograph there stood a grave faced Sophie, dressed in a dark green, shoulder-padded pantsuit. Her pale hands were gripped tight around a bouquet of flowers, likely the one her sister had thrown into the crowd. The woman's face was pinched, revealing something hinting at envy.

_That's_ _interesting, _Stepania thought to herself. She checked the date of the photograph: 1991.

Sophie resurfaced just long enough to watch her sister get married. The next tidbit of information didn't come back up until 1994, when Serena announced the public return of her sister from her "vacation". Again, there was a photo: Serena, carrying a tellingly pale ghost baby in her arms, standing close to her sister, who was stoically showing off her new engagement ring. But there was no news of Sophie getting married. Just a blurry polaroid of a white-skinned woman with a bulging stomach entering the suspicious mansion.

The realization hit the brunette then-Sophie had gotten pregnant! The engagement was just a cover story to hide the woman's shame!

But there was no evidence of a child after that. Perhaps she miscarried? That could explain the blood lust. Or maybe she had the baby in hiding and then gave it up for adoption?

"This search is never going to end, is it?" Stepania groaned, rubbing a tired eye.

Tamar stirred from the couch and murmured sleepily, "What search?"

The brunette stood abruptly, intending to dump the rest of her cold coffee into the sink. "See for yourself," she invited.

Slowly, Tamar shuffled towards the desk and viewed the evidence Stepania had gathered. Immediately, she grasped the photo of the sisters together and nearly shrieked, "That woman! That woman! I know her!"

Stepania nearly broke the coffee pot, jamming it back into the machine hastily to go see what the blonde was screaming about. "Which woman?!" She asked excitedly.

"She was a lot paler and had a more Eastern face but it was her!" Tamar marveled. "That gorgeous woman in leather today in the bakery-this was her!"

Confused, and a little jealous that Tamar thought this woman was so gorgeous, Stepania stared at the photo again. Could that woman in the bakery be her? She hadn't personally paid attention to her when they were in the bakery, until Tamar insisted on returning her dropped money.

Shaking her head, the brunette retorted, "It can't be...Petre is dead. She was buried here in Moscow. That couldn't have been her, Tamar."

The blonde rolled her eyes and said, "Petre went to Serbia, where there a hundreds of ethnic groups, including Asian ones, and came back _pregnant_. Think about it, Stepania. It's been almost twenty years since this photo was taken."

A few seconds went back as the older woman registered the fact. Then, a wide smile pulled at her lips. Just then, the coffee pot started beeping.

Tamar gathered the papers and teased, "Look's like your coffee's done."

* * *

Ignoring the sound of vivacious applause, Anastasia practically soared off stage. As she did that, she nearly knocked over Ed, who was pulling his guitar strap over his shoulders.

"H-hey," he sputtered. "Where are you going?!"

Frustrated, she spun around and snarled at him wordlessly, clearly not caring if her humanity was apparent or not. The burning sensation speeding up her arm could attest to that.

Ed recoiled from her immediately. "I'm sorry about the mime! But you must admit, he was pretty good!" He shrieked.

Keith the agent cautiously pulled away the singer, muttering something about a 'crazy bitch'. Anastasia nearly felt the demon rip through her skin to suck the life out of him but swallowed the sensation. There would be time for that later.

Anastasia stomped off, vanishing from thin air before she was completely out of the red head's sight.

Materializing in front of an underground club in downtown São Paulo, Anastasia bit down on one dark lip and blinked her eyes until her tears of rage disappeared. She ignored the pleas the demon was making, mentally telling it to fuck off while she composed herself.

With a final breath, she rapped a fist against the metal door. As expected, the eye slot slid open and she was greeted with a pair of dark irises and huge pupils.

"..._You're late_," he growled in heavily accented English.

She crossed her arms and retorted, "I'm aware of the time. Tell your boss I'm about to give him the performance of his life."

The slot closed, and, minutes later the door opened wide enough for Anastasia to slip through. As the massive bouncer slammed the door behind her, the witch took a deep whiff of alcohol, marijuana, and sweat. It made her a little dizzy, but she needed it.

The bouncer escorted her past the stage, past the over eager strippers gyrating to the fast-paced house music. Anastasia soon found herself in a darkened room filled with hookah smoke. Hookah smoke, cocaine and marijuana that is. Plenty of it. There was a large leather couch and a coffee table in front of her. Streaks of white coated the table. There were all sorts of people sitting there, but Anastasia knew who they were. They were criminals, kingpins, and downright scum.

Those were the kinds of people who paid best. And the kind of people Anastasia wanted to be around, because seriously, all the people in her life who claimed to be good, or wholesome, or at least_ honorable_, had screwed her over for the last time.

A small-framed, large-busted girl with the face of a baby sat in the lap of her client, who pulled the hookah tube out of his mouth at the sight of his visitor.

He blew smoke into the baby-doll's face before shooing her away in Spanish. Anastasia watched her go and then put a hand on her hip, jutting her leg out to show off her heels just _so_. "I'm here," she announced.

The man on the couch spread his hairy arms out in a welcoming gesture. "Hola, mi invitada de honor," he started. "Te ves arrebatadora! Debido a que yo estoy dispuesto a perdonar a su tardanza ¿Qué le gustaría tomar? Agua? Vino? Llanura Coca Cola?"

Anastasia didn't miss a beat. She replied, "While I'm flattered that you call me your honored guest, I don't appreciate your exploiting of my looks, even if I am 'ravishing', just to point out how late I am. And a Coca-Cola would be lovely, please."

Breaking out into an amused, dark chuckle, the man waved one of his henchmen away to fetch the drink. He stood then, the dim light finally illuminating his tan face. Anastasia had to admit, his face, even with its few wrinkles here and there, was still handsome. His curled, black mustache, crooked grin and curved left eyebrow certainly helped his case. But it was really the glistening of his green eyes that caught her attention. There was something there. Something not quite so... _human_.

"You must already know who I am," he said. "But for the theatrics, I will elaborate. Me llamo es Salvador Cumo. You may call me Sal, if you like. How do like the venue?"

Anastasia scanned the room again, before focusing on Salvador's face again. "It'll do," she commented in disdain. The henchman handed her a chilled glass of coke. She sniffed it first, to make sure there wasn't any poison, or _actual_ coke, before downing the glass entirely.

The criminal snickered. "Your wit is impeccable, mi querida. Tell me, did the money send well?"

That's when the young woman smiled. "It did," she replied. "Thank you for the one thousand reals. It'll keep me warm and dry, at the least. Shall I get started?"

"By all means," Sal invited, slinking back to the couch and putting his feet up.

Anastasia grinned and put a hand on her hip, while the other swayed gently in the air. A swirl of purple magic, disguised as a smokescreen, encircled the woman, until it enveloped her completely. The smoke dissipated, with no albino to be seen. A few gasps came from the mouths of the audience, but not from Salvador's.

Suddenly, all the cocaine and hookah smoke that filled the air turned into little white rubber balls, bouncing onto the floor. They rolled all across the room, meeting a the center, before forming a tower, one stacked on top of the other. They were balanced perfectly. No one in the room dared to breathe for fear that they might fall over.

Just then, Anastasia lifted the couch she was under, complete with all eight audience members, and walked out from under it. She left it fall gracefully to the floor again, before approaching the stack of balls. She delicately pulled the bottom ball out from under the rest, doing it so swiftly the other balls didn't even _move._ Then she twisted the ball in her hand until it elongated into a broad bladed sword. Anastasia flipped it in the air once just for kicks before delivering a single blow down the tower of balls.

For a few seconds, no one reacted. Salvador leaned forward with his hands folded before his lips. That's when the balls burst, and what seemed like dozens of spotted cats scurried out of them, and out of the room save for the one that crawled into Salvador's lap. The man gave the witch a quizzical look.

"For the rat infestation," Anastasia explained, letting the sword poof out of existence.

One of the henchmen whispered something into his master's ear and Salvador turned his head back to her. Anastasia watched as his eyes turned into slits. "One thousand reals for something I could have watched on Youtube?" Salvador hissed. "No, mi querida. This will not do. I want a new trick. A good one."

Anastasia gulped down the sudden sensation of impatience. "So what do you suggest?" She asked.

Salvador fished a harmonica out of his pocket, tossing it to her. "Make it disappear," he commanded.

The witch nearly dropped the object when he said those words. "What'd you say?" She asked.

Crossing his arms, Salvador teased, "Would you prefer if I went back to Spanish? I want you to make it disappear. Poof! Gone."

The familiarity of this situation resonated in Anastasia's mind. She should walk away. She should walk away and never come back. But she had an audience to please. And something told her that Salvador wouldn't her let get past the doorway.

Without another word, Anastasia flexed her fingers and the harmonica was gone.

"Bueno!" The man announced, clasping his hands together. "Now, how about this? Why don't you do something with that marvelous tattoo?"

Cold fear ripped through the woman. Her wide eyes locked with his, which were most definitely reptilian now. "You knew," she growled, clenching her fist as the magic in her arm flared and threatened to consume her body.

Salvador chuckled. "Si, mi querida. But this isn't what I was looking for. It was barely worth the thousand reals. Tomas, escort her outside. We're finished."

Finally, after weeks of tension pulling at the rope of Anastasia's sanity, it finally snapped. The Russian couldn't take the doubt or the rejection any longer!

Her body immediately transformed into the hellish demon and lunged straight for one of the henchmen. In seconds, the energy had been completely sucked out of him. The demon lifted its head, lust temporarily satisfied. Anastasia watched as Salvador laughed before saying, "Increible! I wanted to ice him for a while, just never got around to it. Well done! How would you like a position under me, as my apprentice?"

Anastasia growled, "I was already one dragon's apprentice. You can see why I must decline."

It seemed like Salvador was aware of whom she was talking about, because he said, "That must be where you learned your fabulous reflexes from. I suppose this is goodbye then. Encantada de conocerte, Anastasia!"

With a crackle of magic, the man had slipped into a bright green dragon's skin and slinked away before she could catch him. Everyone else in the room had also disappeared. Now here she was, a demonic blob of blood and air and anger with no one to talk to. She angered her friends, the monks. She let Chase Young push her away. She would never be able to show her face in front of Ed or his posse ever again. And Jack? Well, she' driven him off completely. Because she was like_ this. _Because she was so...

_Mean._

The lust had now completely disappeared, along with Anastasia's desire to stay away from home. She fizzled back to her human self, feeling tears well up in her eyes. It was times like this that her mother's touch would have comforted her.

She would drape a hand over Anastasia's once long, white-blonde hair and smooth it down as the girl cried and say, "It's alright, my sweet. The world just isn't ready for you, yet. Just wait and see. One day, everyone will love you. Or fear you. Either way, you will deserve their attention."

Oh, she deserved their fear, that's for sure. Gods, she could be such a monster sometimes!

Missing her mother, Anastasia teleported into the mansion. The overwhelming urge to cry came over her again and cry she did. The girl wept until she fell to her knees and thought she was going to explode from sheer _sadness._

A sudden thought crossed her mind, one so brief she wouldn't have paid it attention if she hadn't been in this situation. But now, as pathetic as she was, the witch briefly eyed the chandelier above her head and wondered how many pounds of force it would take to crush her. She laughed dryly to herself. Did she have to turn everything into a performance? Her tantrums were one thing; this was just ridiculous.

Anastasia reached up and delivered a weak zap towards the chord that elevated the enormous, diamond encrusted structure. In seconds, the chord was fried and then it snapped. As the chandelier's lights flickered off, it descended upon the witch. Said witch closed her eyes and awaited the grand finale.

* * *

**Author's note: Well, shit, wasn't that dramatic!? So, guess what? I watched an episode of Xiaolin Chronicles without cringing too hard! And it was the one about Salvador, who is officially one of my favorites. I'm also a sucker for episodes revolving around Raimundo and his insecurities. My precious Brazilian, will you ever find your way? Anyways, the "grand finale" is coming, soon. The finale being the end of the Multiply Tour. After that will be a few drabbles and fun things-some of it Raikim, some Chase/Anna (woooh! finally!) and others just general. Still good, though. Send me prompts, and hey I must just write them! Please review!**


	3. The Multiply Tour Pt 3

**Author's note: Okay! Last part to the Multiply Tour is finally here! Enjoy!**

* * *

The pale red head suddenly awoke with a jolt, head pounding and limbs tight. Squirming, it was evident that whatever was tied around those white wrists and ankles wasn't coming off any time soon.

"Good, I almost thought you died on me," came the slightly accented, masculine voice.

"W-w-whaa?" Came the weak reply.

Said reply was ignored, for the man spun around to chide the mime making ridiculous gestures behind him, "Listen, _hermano_, you'd better watch just what you're pantomiming if you want to keep your precious hands attached to your wrists!"

The mime, clearly offended, waited for the criminal to turn around again before flipping him the bird.

Whether the man saw it or not, he kept talking, "Do you know why you're here?"

He was met with a frightful "nuh-uh", so the graying criminal strode over to his captive and ruffled a bit of red hair. The body below him went rigid at his touch. That's right, he purposefully generated scales on his palm just to do that.

"It's alright," he started. "I don't expect you to understand the inner workings of the Heylin agenda. You performers are good at switching to your more 'professional' features in particularly stressful times, which is all I need from you."

"...Heylin?"

"Si, bueno," the older man praised. "Now, turn your pretty little head towards the camera that mime is holding and repeat after me."

* * *

"How did this happen?" Chase demanded, running his large hands over the young woman's torn and bloody body.

Even as the flashes of Heylin magic repaired her pallid skin, Anastasia refused to say a word. She quietly accepted the burning sensation with a cold look on her face, as if to say, "You wouldn't understand."

The warlord was not amused by her silence, glaring at the albino man standing on the other side of the bed. "Well, Spicer?" He asked.

Jack raised his dark brows at the man and snarled, "What? I went over to her house to see how she was doing and found her crushed under a massive chandelier! What does it look like?!"

The witch laying on the blood stained sheets closed her eyes and tried to will herself away from here. The heavy effect of blood loss still mucked up her brain, but she was lucid enough to see her cousin panicking in her peripheral vision.

"You nearly died," Chase informed her, matter-of-factly.

She nodded solemnly, side-eyeing the boy genius for a response.

Now Jack was just angry. He continuously clenched and unclenched his fists, tugging at his white blond hair like he was going to tear it out in tufts. His breathing was heavy, labored, like he was trying to keep himself from imploding.

Finally, Anastasia lifted her head up enough to look at her cousin. "Stop," she said flatly.

The albino man looked shocked, "What?"

"I said 'stop', Jack. Stop beating yourself up ...it's not your fault I wasn't cut out for any of this," she replied, feeling her strength building as Chase healed the rest of her wounds.

Her male counterpart took a step back and stared at her in sheer horror. "What do you mean, 'not cut out for this?' What are you trying to say?" He asked, eyes widening.

Jack had seen this before. Jack knew what this was. And he honestly couldn't believe Anastasia had done it.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Anna?!" He shouted, releasing the death grip he'd had on his calm. "You tried to fucking out yourself?! WHY...Like I fucking don't understand! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"

The young witch flinched at his outburst, instinctively leaning towards Chase, who'd obviously seen this kind of behavior from Jack before.

"Spicer," he stated simply, but firmly.

That single word left a kind of resonance in Anastasia's body that made her shiver. She glanced up at the immortal. His expression was neutral, as usual. Anastasia would have thought that he didn't care if she wasn't in such close proximity to his eyes. The topaz gems had the thinnest of black slits splitting them and his already narrow lids were tightened further. Anastasia could hear his heartbeat pounding under all that bronze armor. The pulsations from his wrists echoed into her as he swept his hands over her skin.

He was nervous—or whatever the draconian warlord's equivalent to that was.

However Jack would have continued, he certainly didn't after Chase said his name. The albino man took one look at the warlord and backed down, albeit reluctantly. Anastasia swallowed a huge lump in her throat and rasped, "I'm sorry, Jack."

Jack crossed his arms and sighed, "Why? Why would you do this to yourself?"

Unwilling to reveal the real reasons of her actions, but unable to think of a believable lie, the witch let the tearful confession tumble from her lips, "The city is taking Sophie's house away, I just lost my opening act for the remainder of Ed Sheeran's tour, I've been alienating everyone I know for no reason I can think of, I can't keep my demon under control...well, the first and last things have been going on for at least a year now...Jack, I'm just tired."

Anastasia somberly pulled her knees up to her chin and refused to make eye contact with her cousin. Jack glanced at her and then at Chase.

The warlord folded his arms and asked, "Am I to blame as well, Anastasia?"

Bitterly, the witch retorted, "Don't flatter yourself."

"I'll take that as a yes," Chase responded just as bitterly.

Biting her lip, Anastasia met his glare and thanked him for healing her.

He nodded in return and said to the genius, "Spicer, do you have something to say?"

"Stop policing me, Chase, you're not my mom," Jack spat, with a hint of dry humor in his tone.

For some reason, even listening to their interactions made the red headed witch sick. After all, Jack was her family, her friend. And Chase was her teacher...damn, was she that possessive?

That's when Jack put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Anna, I'm sorry I pushed you away. The truth is, this had nothing to do with Grammy Spicer-"

"_Pssh_," Anastasia responded dryly. "Water is wet."

"Let me finish! I kept you at arm's length because Mom's been looking for a way to make you a dual Chinese-American citizen, under the Spicer family name...just without you knowing," he continued.

Her red eyes widened as she stared at him. "...Why would I take your family name?" She questioned, but not in offense. She was genuinely confused.

Jack scratched the back of his neck, scrambling for the right words to say. "Uhm, well, I was tired of being an only child, despite having the whole Spicer fortune to myself.. and Mom always wanted a girl... I mean, even Dad wants to see you again."

Suddenly, Anastasia's arms were around Jack's waist as she slid off the bed. Suppressing a sob of relief, the young woman tightened her grip as Jack let out a loose laugh.

After all this time, she finally had someone to call family again. Somewhere to call _home._

She hiccupped, "I missed you, Jack. I missed your pudding cups, your stupid goggles and the way you swear at every little thing that interrupts your work—I missed it all!"

"I didn't know someone could miss me so much!" He laughed, tears in his own eyes.

Pulling away, the witch dizzily looked up at him and asked, "Why didn't you just _tell_ me?"

The albino man guiltily shrugged, "Mom wanted to make it a surprise for your birthday. Try to act surprised, okay?"

"You're throwing me a party?"

"Yep. We're getting a special guest, too. That's definitely still a surprise."

" Jack... Thank you so much."

Anastasia smiled genuinely at her cousin for the first time in months, before a thought occurred to her. She glanced over her shoulder at the warlord, who had tossed the blood stained sheets to Priya and was now standing silently in the background.

"What did he have to do with this?" She asked.

Jack looked at Chase and then replied, "Oh! He's the one who told me they were trying to take away your home."

"I could see that it was distressing you," the immortal added, proudly sticking up his chin just so.

Anastasia sheepishly responded, "Honestly, I thought you were just bored me."

Chase shook his head, "No, I let you leave because I wanted you to resolve your problems at home."

The young woman blushed at the idea that Chase Young, a callous and cruel warrior, could seek comforting her, even if it meant pushing her away.

She bowed to him, the way a student would to their master. And to her pleasure, he bowed back.

"You may return to your position as my apprentice, if you wish."

With a soft smile, she replied, "I'd like that." She then said, "For a few weeks now the curse has been increasingly difficult, making me frustrated by the smallest things, and I've been feeding so frequently. I just lost control last night and I was terrified I might hurt someone by accident."

"Did you think ending your life would stop the demon?" He asked, gaze fixated on her arm.

Anastasia caught the look and followed his eyes, finding purely white skin on the extremity—and nothing else. Panic rose inside the witch as she frantically searched for the tattoo, for the curse that had belonged to her and her family for centuries. It wasn't on her other arm, it wasn't on her legs, as she discovered when she nearly ripped through her fishnet stockings. Her skin was as white as ivory, unmarred and unmarked thanks to the splash of Heylin magic.

A scream caught itself in the back of her throat as Anastasia looked to Jack, to Chase for answers.

The albino man put his hands up and said slowly, "Anna, don't freak out."

She obeyed, swallowing the scream even as the cold sweat broke. The warlord approached her again, folding his nimble fingers around her wrist and lifting the arm to inspect it further. "I should have known," he muttered. "But there was such a heavy scent of blood in the air I could not distinguish between you and the curse."

"How did this happen?" Anastasia asked, clenching and unclenching her fingers, horrified when she didn't feel the demon flexing underneath her flesh. She had grown so used to the sensation—like second nature.

"Taking your own life," Chase clarified. "The ancient kan creatures derive their powers from the energy of their hosts, but only if the host feeds them more energy, otherwise the kan would deplete the host within days. Your death would have meant starvation."

The witch's eyes bulged. "No...it couldn't have died," she murmured. "I have to go back to the mansion. Maybe it's still there."

Chase nodded, unfolding his arms. "I will go with you. It's been a while since I last saw a kan free of its host."

"...Okay," Anastasia replied, secretly relieved he'd decided to join in. She turned to Jack, who was watching them from a distance with a suspiciously amused expression.

"What?"

He blinked, "Oh, nothing. Come on, let's go monster hunting."

Anastasia snuck a look at Chase and replied, "Just like old times."

* * *

High heels clacked against the fallen, rotten leaves on the ground as Stepania and Tamar circled the mansion. The two of them had resolved to confront whatever was in there; they became so obsessed with finding out what happened with the owner of the aforementioned home and her lost daughter that getting their jobs back was now goal #2.

Their black attire concealed their identities. Stepania donned a black mesh shirt and tight leather pants, along with platform combat boots in case she needed to punt someone in the crotch. Tamar was in an all-black, skin tight bodysuit and wore the sharpest and highest of heels man could ever have the displeasure of being stabbed in the eyeball with. They also carried weapons-knives strapped to their calves, pistols underneath their jackets, and hockey sticks in their hands. Several flashlights sat in Tamar's backpack. In case they ran into trouble, the blonde wired her phone to dial 112 in response to a scream.

Stepania followed a trail of blood blotches on the walkway, shining her flashlight and snapping photos simultaneously. She silently acknowledged their growth in size as she neared the front door with Tamar not far behind.

When she closed in on the door, she noted that it was wide open, leaving a gaping blank space waiting for her. Stepania gulped, fearful of shining the light into the void because of what she might find.

Tamar inched ahead of her, holding her hockey stick high above her head before turning to Stepania and nodding. The brunette nodded, shaking, and lifted the light until it shone against the darkness-only to reveal a catastrophic image of a broken chandelier laying in a pool of blood. Crystals scattered the ground, blood spattered the walls.

The brunette held her breath as the wave of metal scent hit and slowly crept inside, keeping her gaze fixated on the blood and crystals. Tamar, on the other hand, shone her light all around the room, noting the amount of blood on the ceiling as well as the walls.

"What happened, here?" Stepania pondered aloud, crouching next to the pool of rubicund, copper scented liquid. She shone the flashlight into the fluid, half-expecting it to jump out at her. It did nothing of the sort; it remained stagnant, drying a little bit every millisecond. The brunette snapped another picture.

The blonde woman reached down to pick up a shard with her forefinger and her thumb, inspecting it carefully. She shined a light over it and found tiny red specks coating its surface.

"_Tamar_!" Stepania half-shrieked, half-whispered, scaring the wits out of the blonde.

Making a sound that could only be described as an "EEP!", the young woman reflexively clenched her fingers together and felt something pierce her flesh.

"Ow!" She moaned, flicking the shard away. She hissed as she watched a droplet of blood trail down her finger. "Dammit."

Stepania grasped her by the wrist and growled, "What have you done? Do you even know who's blood this is?! You could contract hepatitis—or worse, HIV! Do you want that?!"

Tamar, who already had a very low pain threshold, did not appreciate the older woman's chiding. She blinked away the burning sensation in her eyes and muttered, "No."

Seeing the displeasure in the blonde's eyes immediately churned Stepania's stomach and she apologized. Tamar gladly accepted and the brunette reached into her knapsack and pulled out a Kleenex, wiping away the blood and wrapping it around the tiny wound as tightly as she could.

"Don't be so foolish next time," Stepania warned, not at all smiling.

The blonde saluted her, replying, "Yes, ma'am."

Quietly acknowledging the sensation those words brought to her heart, Stepania turned to the chandelier and stated, "This is where I saw the blood pooling last time. Right inside the chandelier."

"Maybe it weighed it down?" Tamar offered hopefully.

Shaking her head, Stepania responded, "Maybe, maybe not. I'm going to check the chord for foul play. Stay here."

The blonde did as she was told while the brunette made her way up the spiral steps and towards the banister. She shone her light at the chord that once held the crystal structure and noted the blackened tips where it had broken off. No, not broken. Burned.

"This must have short-circuited," she called from upstairs. "The chord is burned. And that would explain why the rest of the house is dark, too. Leaving such a huge light source on for a long time would have burned it out rather quickly."

Tamar nodded, watching the older woman snap a few photos before making her way downstairs. "But still, it doesn't explain the blood."

Stepania sighed, "Nothing does. The only lead we have is that this blood isn't moving, unlike last time."

A horrible thought crossed the blonde's mind. "What if..." she started, "What if there's someone under there...and this is _their_ blood?"

The brunette thought about it. This chandelier was so large, massive in fact, that a body might be hiding under there. They could very well be trespassing on a crime scene, for God's sake!

"Well, there's only one way to find out," she replied, fishing the flashlights out of the bag and laying them in a circle-like fashion around the chandelier so they were shining right into it.

Tamar followed her example and did the same, carefully placing each flashlight beside each other. Hopefully, the light would reflect against the ceiling and show them if there was something-or someone, in there.

When they were done, Stepania and Tamar gasped at the shadow outlined on the ceiling. It _was_ a person!

"Oh my gosh," the blonde woman panicked, feeling tears well up in her eyes. "Someone killed this poor person and we're next. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my _God_."

Hiding her fear rather well, Stepania gulped hard and began dialing 112 on her cellphone. They'd be gone by the time the police got here, but at least they'd see the mess and deal with it accordingly.

Tamar wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks, disregarding the feeling of renewed wetness on her wrapped forefinger. "So...what do we do now?" She asked the older woman.

Stepania held the phone up and sighed, "No goddamn service. Hold on, let me find a signal outside."

She didn't get outside. Before her brain registered Tamar's warning scream, something lashed out and clutched the blonde's ankle, ripping her feet off the ground and dragging her across the gritty floor towards the chandelier.

The brunette watched in horror as her counterpart was pulled closer to her doom, before she slammed the hockey stick right into the ghastly tendril encircling Tamar's ankle.

Recoiling, the tendril pulled back into the red pool at the base of the chandelier. Stepania helped Tamar to her feet and the two of them held each other as a cloudy figure of red, illuminated by the flashlights, towered over them. The cloudy red blood oozed into a humanoid form, levitating just feet away. Two bright, icy blue slits opened in the base of its head and stared right at the women.

They collectively screamed as the monster lunged at them—until something even more terrifying charged towards it. A gigantic, scaly beast resembling a giant lizard came running and leaped towards the demon, ripping its long and black claws through it.

"Chase!" A shrill, female voice shouted, alerting the two women that there was at least one other human with them.

A thick, pale girl stood at the top of the stairs, holding a book in her hands. The reptilian creature, "Chase", lifted his head and nodded at the woman. He slinked towards the young women who cowered in the corner and snarled at them, giving them a glimpse of his razor sharp fangs.

Tamar and Stepania shrieked again before making a mad dash towards the door. They were met with a pale faced, lanky young man in black leather who shooed them out, saying, "C'mon, c'mon, you don't want your soul sucked out, do you? And for the love of God, blondie, put away that bloody finger!"

Chase turned to face the kan demon, which had its eyes set on the blonde woman. It would not make it, however. The immortal let out a deafening roar and charged towards the kan. Said kan flew back towards the stairs, closer to Anastasia.

The witch stood at the top of the steps and recited the verses written in the book from her mother. Recently, and for no apparent reason, the blotches of blood had morphed into words from the Yakutian/ Sakha language. And while being Russian, Anastasia had not a semblance of understanding for the text but read the words with every ounce of confidence she had.

With every spoken vowel, the words lit up and the kan let out a wail of misery. Anastasia flipped the page to a blank one and held up the book, enduring the surge of force pulling the demon back into the pages. Like harsh winds, it scraped her cheeks and blew her hair in wild directions, before throwing her over the banister all together.

Chase caught her and held her abnormally close as he rushed to the base of the stairway.

He slowly set her down, and awaited her as she shakily opened the book again. The text was still intact, in fact, there was extra lettering there. Anastasia spotted her own name scrawled out in fresh blood appear at the bottom of the page, right after the word "Мичил"

"Michil," she read, brushing her finger over the word. It felt..._familiar._

"_Nariyanna, Andri, Ayhal, Elley, Tuyara_…" She recited again, trying to place the familiarity. _"Sahayana, Yana, Aysen, Manchaary, Kaskil, Uygulaan, **Michil**, Anastasiya…"_

Anastasia closed her eyes and remembered the sound of her mother's voice speaking this name. Long ago, she'd erased it from her memory...

And then it clicked.

"Michil... is my father," she breathed. He'd been the one that gave her the book, then, hadn't he? Or maybe her mother gave her this as a momento of some sort? Ugh, so many questions.

Jack stepped through the door and harshly whispered, "Yo! The police are on their way, let's move, people!"

The witch and the immortal nodded in response and quickly made their way out of the mansion, following Jack out of the moonlight and only making it to the edge of the yard when the petite blonde drew her pistol out, pointing it maddeningly between Anastasia's eyes.

"You!" She snarled. "You were that woman at the café! You...you're the daughter of-"

Anastasia calmly handed Chase the spell book before slapped the girl's wrist and broke her hold on the pistol, turning the gun on her. Now the witch had her gun pressed to Tamar's forehead. "Yes, I'm the daughter of Sophie Ivanovna Petre. She died over a year ago and I've been using magic to keep trespassers out of my childhood home. My absence_ wasn't _an invitation. _What are you doing here_?"

Stepania growled, "Trying to get our jobs back. It's not like you would understand, miss high and mighty aristocrat. You were born in wealth—you're probably living off of Mommy's money somewhere warm and bright, huh?"

Those words immediately set the witch off and she snarled back, "Okay, firstly, I'm albino. I don't _do_ warm and bright. Secondly, I make my own living, pizda."

Chase found himself snickering at Anastasia's lewd choice of wording. Jack quirked an eyebrow, asking, "What'd she say?"

"_Cunt_, Spicer," he said in all seriousness. "She called the woman a _'cunt_'."

The albino man rolled his eyes at the warlord and said, "You're such a seventh grader, C.Y."

"Feh."

Anastasia removed the barrel of the pistol from Tamar's head and gestured for her to go, saying, "I don't want any of this plastered on the news—understood?"

Stepania didn't want to take chances, so she deleted the pictures she'd taken.

All but one.

The two government agents fled the scene, but not before the blonde stopped at the gate and shouted, "Suka!"

Anastasia teleported herself and the two men into Chase's lair and slumped against a pillar, rubbing her temple. "It's over," she said.

"Aw, don't worry," Jack assured her, hugging her shoulders. "We'll keep the government's grubby hands off the house. My mom's a pro when it comes to real estate. Also, she's very scary when she speaks Russian."

"Good to know," she responded, taking the spell book back from Chase both timidly and curiously. "I need to figure this out. I'll probably have to find my father and ask him what he knows about all this—if he's even _alive."_

The warlord responded, "Knowledge of the kan is very limited, even in magical text. Family is your best option yet."

Jack rubbed his chin as he stared at Anastasia's arm. "So...what? You're not cursed anymore?'"

The witch flexed her fingers and willed the blood magic to appear, but besides a bit of shaking from the book, nothing happened. "Hm," she observed sadly. "I guess not."

"Well, good riddance," the boy genius replied. "It may have given you powers beyond imagination but that thing was terrifying as fuck. C'mon, let's go home and get ya a milkshake."

Before Anastasia could reply, Jack's phone started buzzing. He held up a finger and answered the phone, pacing as he did so.

Chase seemed to slide in to Anastasia's peripheral vision as he muttered, "Are you truly relieved of the kan's absence?"

"No," she whispered. "I don't know about you, but I think I grew attached. I just wish I knew how to keep my control over it."

The warlord replied, "It takes time. This existence is forever a war, the inhumane and the humane pining for dominance. Sometimes you wonder which one is the real you."

Anastasia felt a shiver down her back. It always made her sad to hear Chase speak from experience. As it were, he'd been a lot more open since he got his soul back. It made him a phenomenal Master-when he wasn't being a moody priss.

"A moody priss, am I?" The immortal's voice demanded.

The witch froze.

Thankfully, Jack interrupted before Chase could retaliate. "Uh, guys, you might wanna hear this!"

* * *

"Rai, would you just sit down? You're stressing us all out," Kimiko called from the floor.

The bald monk popped a piece of popcorn in his mouth. "Yes, Raimundo, come sit and enjoy this film with us," he gushed, turning to the Japanese monk. "Is it one of the very famous Disney films?"

Kimiko nodded with a smile, "Yup! It's called 'Mulan', and it's about a girl from ancient China who takes her father's place in the war against the Huns."

Omi's eyes lit up, his newfound feminism fascinated by the amount of badass this movie heroine exuded.

Raimundo called from the window, "We should be focusing on more important things, gang. Like why there haven't been any Wu revelations in weeks, or why we haven't heard from the Heylin since the Shadow incident?"

Folding his hands behind his head, Clay replied, "Rai, we've been bustin' our behinds tryin' to relocate our temple and track down that no-good Wuya for a long time now. We all deserve a break."

Poking his head out of the cowboy's shirt, Dojo commented, "Yes, we do! And for the record, we've gone through longer dry spells than this. Remember the Great Wu-Drought of 2006-2013?"

The four monks shuddered at the memory of the unnecessarily long hiatus and Kimiko patted the seat next to her seductively, purring to her team leader, "I've got sour jelly worms."

Raimundo bit his lip, slowly but surely trudging to her side, where he plopped onto the carpet with a hard thud. Kimiko rewarded him with a handful of candies and pressed the "start" button on the TV remote.

An hour into the movie, suddenly the screen went black and the sound of white noise filled the room. Omi shrieked from his place on the bed, "Noooo! I must know what happened to Captain Lee Shang's fatherrrrrrr!"

Everyone glared accusingly at the Japanese monk, who was desperately fumbling with the remote. "Wait, wait, I think I got it," she said. The picture reappeared and everyone sighed, settling back into their comfortable positions. And then, as if waiting for them to put their guards down, the TV screamed.

Well, it didn't scream, per se, but it made quite an unpleasant noise that near shattered the monks' eardrums.

His fingers plugging his ears, Raimundo shouted, "KIMIKOOOO!"

The Japanese monk shrieked in return, desperately trying to mute the volume, "I'M NOT DOING IT!"

"DO SOMETHING BEFORE OUR BRAINS BAKE!" Omi responded, shielding his ears with an oversized panda pillow.

Clay managed to say through gritted teeth, "That's ''fore our brains fry', par'ner!"

As the four monks argued and screamed, the scaly reptile hiding under Clay's hat lifted it and spotted a rather disturbing image on the screen. He jabbed a green yellow claw at the distorted picture and bellowed, "LOOK!"

That's when everyone realized that the sound had stopped, now replaced by an accented voice. The monks slowly turned their heads to stare at the TV, with Kimiko being the first to gasp, listening to what the person had to say.

"I'm terribly, terribly sorry to announce this," he said. "But... the Multiply Tour has been ...cancelled."

The remote in the Japanese girl's hands clattered to the ground.

"I know this is all very sudden, and many of you are probably very angry with me. To be honest, this was a...sudden...decision that wasn't mine to make. All I can really tell you guys is...I'm gonna disappear for a while. It's best that no one follow me or try to bring me back." Ed's eyes started glistening, and he started choking on his words. "I'll be in big trouble if you do."

A shaky, nervous, awkward laugh left his lips and then his eyes went cold blue. "To all my fans, and mates and family, I love you. Stay good while I'm away, alright?"

That's when the camera's focus shifted and the sound of British singer's voice faded. The image was distorted but anyone who knew better could see the shadow of a creature, reptilian, approach the young man.

As Ed started to shriek, the screen went blank.

It took the monks and Dojo a few moments to process what just happened. Then, Kimiko tugged at her pigtails and wailed, "Was Ed Sheeran just kidnapped in front of us?!"

Her phone buzzed and she held it to her ear, "Keiko?!"

Omi, Clay, and Raimundo huddled. "Alright, par'ners. I dunno 'bout ya'll, but I think I know 'xactly who took Ed Sheeran. Looked like a certain, no good lizard the me."

"There are only two beings we know of that can shape shift into reptilian forms," Omi replied. "And since Lapatraz went down ablaze two years ago, we can only assume the threatening party is none other than Chase Young."

Raimundo interjected, "That's 'went up in flames', Omi."

The cowboy shook his head. "Whoa, now, par'ner. We can't be 100% sure that hombre Como died in the fire. They ain't never found a body, neither."

Cringing at the name of the evil kingpin, the Brazilian bitterly said, "There's no way he could've survived that massive explosion, Clay. Sal's dead. We went to his service, remember?"

Dojo slithered onto the young man's shoulder and responded, "Nope, that was Salvador's dragon form, alright. I was in his inner circle for _years_; I'd know it anywhere."

Kimiko ducked her head into the huddle and said, "Okay, so according to Keiko, the message was broadcasted universally. Anyone with basic cable was able to see it. People are rioting in Tokyo right now. I'd hate to see what's going on in London."

The team leader, still miffed, said, "Well, what're we doing, gang? Let's go save a superstar!"

Sighing, Dojo rubbed his large eyes. "So much for a 'break'," he muttered.

* * *

Salvador Como picked at his nails with a sharp throwing knife as he lay on a recliner in his jet plane. Le Mime, sitting just across from him, was constructing a replica of the Eiffel Tower with nothing but shrimp shells—which the kingpin was considering destroying when he got up.

Their captive was tied up and lying unconscious from a moderately hard blow to the head that would likely leave him concussed long after this was over.

Was the poor, English muffin getting iced? Of course not! Like the Shen Gong Wu, Ed Sheeran was only a pawn, only a method of distraction for the young and delectably pale witch with the power to transform into a demon made completely of blood particles.

Salvador had heard and studied the kan creature and all its abilities. The witch, named Anastasia, had yet to reveal the extent of her power, but it didn't matter. Not really. Salvador just needed that power. Wuya had told him that kan were nearly unstoppable forces of power and with the right person yielding such powers, the world would be brought to its very knees. Something as mighty as blood-based magic could mean total and utter world domination in a matter of months.

He had already asked nicely of the albino—now was the time to _take._

After working with Ed, the woman had developed a sort of friendship with him and had anything happened to the man, Anastasia might be willing to help.

The only problem was the monks, who were fortunately under the impression that he'd died. But just in case, Salvador practically handed them their Wu through the witch and the singer, though in that case he was just making bets and hoping that Anastasia would voluntarily give them the Wu when she made it "disappear".

Now all the criminal had to do was wait. Eventually, the witch would come after him. And when she did, Salvador would tear her throat out, ingesting enough blood to transfer the abilities over to him.

Ed stirred in his slumber, sluggishly murmuring something about flying pigs on kites and Le Mime clasped his hands together soundlessly, indicating that he was finished with his little model. He'd even crafted a tiny French flag and perched it carefully atop the shrimp.

With a look that perpetuated boredom, Sal swiftly chucked his knife into the statue and laughed uproariously when it crashed into the ground.

Le Mime fell to his knees, clawing silently at his face and making a face akin to that of the poor fellow in "The Scream".

Salvador just clucked his tongue, still snickering, "Viva la France!"

* * *

The monks' jaws dropped when they saw their old friend Anastasia practically sandwiched between Jack and Chase Young.

"Hi, everyone," Anastasia tried to greet them cheerfully.

Raimundo immediately took initiative, speaking for the group, "So you've made your choice, eh, Anna?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Jack asked, "What?"

Anastasia slumped her shoulders, responding, "Why must there always be sides? You_ know_ that none of this is black and white. Chase said it himself, 'there's always going to be a push and pull. Heylin will have its victories and so will the Xiaolin!'"

Omi pointed an accusatory finger, "So, you _have_ sided with Chase Young!"

The immortal in question crossed his arms and sighed, "Must we go through with this every time we meet, _children_?"

"We're not children!" The monks collectively shrieked, each of them taking on a fighting stance.

Jack cleared his throat and stated, "Hey, guys, we're not here to fight. We're all here for one reason—to save Ed Sheeran and prolong his glorious singing career, right?

Kimiko slowly relaxed her muscles and asked, "So how did you guys find this place?"

They all stood in front of Salvador Como's hiding spot, an abandoned warehouse in São Paulo. The only reason they knew he was there was because, just a mile away, there was a relatively new jet parked in an empty parking lot.

"The jet," the seven of them responded in unison.

Raimundo smirked and cracked his knuckles, "Okay, so are we ready to find this motherfucker and make him sorry?"

By the time they got inside the dimly lit, dank and dusty smelling warehouse, Le Mime and Ed Sheeran sat back-to-back in the center, beat up and bloodied, as well as handcuffed and gagged.

Immediately, Anastasia went to undo the gag in the singer's mouth, asking, "Ed, are you alright?"

A barrage of slurred moans responded and he slumped tiredly against her collar bone.

Anastasia instinctively pressed a hand to the back of his head, feeling around his red hair for blood or large bumps. She felt wetness at the crown, finding blood as she pulled her fingers away.

"He needs to go to a hospital," she warned her peers, untying him and pulling him into her lap.

Raimundo and Chase looked around, the Brazilian asking, "Do you see Salvador?"

"No," the immortal admitted. "Neither do I smell him. He must have escaped."

The brunette drove his fist into the wall, wincing at the painful sound it made. "Mother fucker! We're always one step behind him!"

Chase looked over at the Xiaolin leader and responded, "Don't be discouraged just yet, Pedrosa. Salvador Como has a nasty habit of getting himself into loose alliances."

"What does that mean?" Raimundo spun around, snapping at the older man, but Chase was already gone.

The immortal was already beside Anastasia.

""What do you think Salvador's motive was?" She asked him, craning her head back to look at him.

Chase thought it over, replying, "There are many reasons for Salvador to lead us all here, however, now of them that carry any merit have to do with _him_."

The British singer groaned and stirred in the albino's lap, opening his eyes. He looked up and saw the witch staring back down at him.

"Anna?"

The albino smiled and said, "Yes. You're alright now, Ed. You're okay. We're gonna take you somewhere safe."

Ed's eyes nearly glazed over as they scanned the room, finding another three Asians, a white guy with a cowboy hat, a latino, and a white haired guy all staring down at him.

"….Okay," he murmured, before going unconscious again.

The Xiaolin volunteered to take Ed to the nearest hospital and so the transfer to Dojo's back was made. They also fought to keep Le Mime, who would undoubtedly be thrown in jail for what he'd done in accomplice with Salvador.

Anastasia watched the French clown flail wildly, mouthing something she could not decipher. She waved amicably as the monks were off and stared blankly into the dark sky for a moment before Jack clapped her back.

"What a night!" He exclaimed.

The witch nodded, looking down at her arm before looking back a the sky. She thought about Salvador's invitation. She thought about the curse, about her father, her mother, and shivered.

So many things left unanswered. So much left unsaid.

But still, she had two very important men back in her life, and their presence if anything, was very much appreciated. She turned to look at them, Jack grinning from ear to ear, hand on her shoulder. Chase standing further away, but arms uncrossed. He was unguarded.

A thought crossed her mind and, not wanting to let go of the oppurtunity, Anastasia charged towards him and hugged tight.

Jack audibly gasped and Chase tensed. In response, the witch started to pull away, apologizing profusely, when her cousin ran into them and tightened his grip, practically crushing the girl and annoying the dragon.

"You guys are the best!" He exclaimed happily.

The three stood like that next to the rotting building for what seemed like forever. The sounds of the Brazilian city sang as midnight rose upon them and the moon became completely visible. Its face stretched out from the sky and bathed them in a surreal white light.

Anastasia smiled as, eventually, Chase brought up a hand and pulled her closer to his chest.


	4. The Road Trip

**Author's Note: Okay, just so were clear...the Multiply Tour is the three-part opener for this story (as well as the three-part epilogue for "She Will Rise Again"), and so far we've learned quite a lot. Let's recap: Anastasia has just been pulled from a depressive state, in which she almost committed suicide. This rapid loss of energy caused the _kan_ (the blood demon) to exit her body and find another host. **

**Jack and Chase helped her return the _kan_ back to the spell book, which now has a whole list of Anastasia's paternal family members who were touched by the _kan_. Michil, her father, is the key to her understanding of the demon and her family history with it. Now she has to find him, if he's even_ alive_. And that will be a challenge, considering she doesn't remember his face, only his brief presence in her life. **

**And not only does she have to deal with that, but Salvador Como now has his sights on her. After being in cahoots with a certain Heylin witch, the kingpin is more than interested in expanding his power and picking off his enemies. Talk about bloodlust. **

**Now, for all we know, Shadow is quite dead, and so is Hannibal. Maybe. Probably. The only problem is, Chase has been feeling out-of-whack lately. More depressed and morose than usual, alarmingly honest in times when he was known to be very tight-lipped, and genuinely _lonely_. Was the cost of his returned soul more than he bargained for? **

**And there's so much more to be written about—The monks, Wuya, Jack, Tamar and Stepania (and dear GOD do I love writing them!)—mostly in one shots and short installments like the Multiply Tour, but there was nothing "short" about it, lol. Took me goddamn FOREVER to write. Let's hope the laziness is starting to wear off, or I'm going to be in big trouble.**

**So, done with recapping now. I wanted to lay off the drama and supernatural stuff for a while and write something more light-hearted, fun...like a family road trip! I had the idea yesterday while going to Ohio (two states away from where I live). ****So...road trips are fun. The Spicer kids (Jack, Meghan, and because of Jack's family taking her in, Anastasia) take a trip to Niagara Falls in Ontario from Cherry Hills Village, Colorado for a wedding. That's a whopping 22 hours, _minus_ the rest stops. Along with unexpected setbacks and a certain hitchhiker, they'll need to brace themselves for a bumpy ride! **

* * *

The afternoon sun was made it's way through the parted clouds and shined brightly for the world to enjoy. Everyone except Jack Spicer.

The evil Goth slathered some sun block on his already pale, pasty skin as he muttered gratefully, "Thank _fuck_ we're getting out of this hellhole city because it's fucking hotter than Satan's _ass crack_!"

Sitting patiently in the passenger side, Anastasia smirked as she watched her cousin almost violently bathe himself in the SPF 100 lotion, while she'd opted for a lighter 30, protective clothing complete with sunglasses, and a sun hat with an adorable daisy pinned to it (she always was the more demure relative—not that she was any less frightening, of course. In fact, her silent and expressionless look terrified all the purse pooches and their owners when they saw her driving past their perfectly groomed lawns and pools.)

"Ontario is much cooler," she agreed. "But you'd be less susceptible to the heat and sun if you'd just close the sun roof and put the A.C. on. "

He glared murderously at her, the area under his eyes already turning a vibrant shade of pink. Anastasia smiled and reached up to close the sun roof while Jack stated, "How about you get off my back? The sun and my mom have been beating down on it for weeks now, thanks."

He blared the A.C. to a relaxing, chilly 68 degrees and continued, "She's been so worried about us driving all the way to Ontario on our own but Dad insisted we take the obligatory 'Spicer road trip', which is basically where all the kids in the family get together and drive to a big family event."

"Jillian's and Victor's wedding," the witch clarified.

Jack nodded, replying, "Yeah, and the family road trip means taking the whole generation along. Unfortunately, Dad and Uncle Leland agreed that Meghan was totally of age, so now we have to babysit her instead of actually having some goddamn_ fun_."

Anastasia snorted as her cousin slammed a hand over the car horn, effectively scaring the shit out of every living creature within a five mile radius, including the pale teenager making her way down the driveway, who dragged a massive pink-and-white polka dotted suitcase behind her.

When the sound tore through the air, Meghan nearly dropped the suitcase and fell over, shrieking, "_I'm coming, you asswipe_!"

"Isn't Meghan fifteen now?" The older woman pointed out, glancing back at her cousin.

"Yeah," the boy genius replied impatiently. "But at least when she was ten you could give her a box of cookies to keep her quiet. Now you actually have to exert_ energy_."

The Mercedes' locks suddenly fell into place just as Meghan tried to yank the door open. Jack snickered as the girl pounded on the window in frustration, her shouting muffled by the sound of the air condition. Anastasia clucked her tongue at him and used the controls on her side to open the locks for Meghan. "Don't be so mean, Jack. We have to spend 22 hours or so with her, so we might as well start off on good terms," she chided.

The back door flew open, as did the teenager's mouth as she growled a string of curses in the boy genius's direction while she shoved her suitcase into a seat and then followed it.

"...Swear to_ fuck_, Jack, you absolute piece of horse _shit_, your parents are _soooooo_ gonna hear about this!" The blonde warned, pulling a few strands of hair out of her face and resting her Armani sunglasses on her head.

Jack responded, amused, "The 'I'm telling' threat, Meghan? Really? And Mom said you were _soooo_ grown up." He made sure to mock her tone of voice, down to the high-pitched nagging sound. "And besides, you and I both know that I couldn't give a bigger crap about what my parents think."

Meghan shot back, catching onto his mimicking, "Then why are you taking me along when we both know you coulda just flown there on your stupid nerd jet pack?"

"It's called a _'heli-pack'_, you little cretin, and I only agreed to take you along because spoiled little brats like you deserve a little roughing up every once in a blue moon," the albino man shot back, revving up the engine.

"Roughing up?" The teenager echoed, sounding genuinely confused and worried.

Jack smirked and looked into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with her. "We've got a minimal amount of gas money and I'm not wasting it because the air conditioning is gonna suck the tank up dry. Once we hit Nebraska, this baby's turning off, and we'll start 'er back up in Michigan."

He pushed the parking break down and let the car ease out of the driveway, before speeding through the rest of the neighborhood.

Meghan let out a horrified gasp, "But if we open up the windows and let the sun in, I'll burn!" She pointed tellingly at her bare arm, which was just as white as Jack's.

"Pssht," the man snorted. "You'll be peeling by the time we get there, and the wedding's still in a few days, so you'll be good as new by then."

The girl's blue eyes filled with angry tears as she cried, "You mother fucker!"

Anastasia decided to intervene then, before the tears_ really_ started rolling. "Jack's just teasing. None of us are going to burn," she assured the blonde.

Sniffling, Meghan asked, "You're albino, too?"

"Mm-hm," the witch replied, pulling her sunglasses off to reveal dark, garnet-colored irises.

The blonde blinked in admiration. "You have really pretty eyes," she marveled.

Her male counterpart snickered, "Isn't it weird? The three of us being albino...I mean, what are the chances of cousins being albino and not the parents?"

"Just big enough for it to happen to us," Anastasia replied, smiling at Meghan.

She decided that, yes, they were going to have a good time, and yes, she was going to keep the peace. Isn't that what she usually did when it came to Jack, anyways? And from the looks of it, he and Meghan were going to be a handful.

"Alright!" Jack declared, pressing generously on the gas pedal. "Spicer Family Road Trip 2k15, here we go!"

* * *

Anastasia bit her lips as she fumbled with the GPS, trying her best not to curse, though this was her eleventh time trying to put in the right address and Jack had accidently taken the wrong expressway and they were now in South Dakota.

"Recalculating," it stated monotonously. "Turn right...recalculating."

"Goddamit, Anna," the boy genius grunted, leaning over to take the small machine from her. "Let me do it...hey! Your gonna break it!"

The witch extended her arm backwards so Jack couldn't get to it, tapping it blindly at this point as she fought off the Goth. "Focus on the road, Jack!" She commanded.

Meghan stabbed a finger forward and shrieked, "TRUCK!"

Screaming, the boy genius swerved violently, _so_ violently that the car skidded into the shoulder of the road and slammed into a parked motorcycle.

When the initial shock left them, Jack, Anastasia and Meghan opened their eyes and found the hood of the car flipped open, vapors exiting the engine. Two meaty arms abruptly slammed it down, shaking the car like an earthquake had erupted underneath them.

A large man, possibly 6'7, and weighing maybe 300 pounds, pounded angrily on the window. His leather-clad hands left dirty imprints in the glass. In a panic, the boy genius locked all the doors.

"GET OUT!" He yelled, saliva coating his greying beard.

Jack just barely lowered his window and raised his neck so the biker could hear him, squeaking, "No thanks."

The biker didn't take this well, because he started slamming himself against the car. Anastasia grabbed onto the door handle and held for dear life as the car threatened to flip over. Jack started screaming again, shakily turning the key in the engine. A few engine noises sounded, but for some reason, he couldn't get the vehicle to start.

Panicking, Anastasia let her window down and climbed out, despite Meghan and Jack begging her not to.

She clambered up and settled her elbows on the top of the car so the man could see her. "Hey! Neanderthal!" She exclaimed. "It's illegal to park on the shoulder of the road, don't you know that?!"

Ceasing his enraged acts for a moment, the biker glared up at the albino woman and growled, "That's nunna yer business, lil' missy. Now fuck off 'n tell yer friend ta get his ass out here and fight like a man!"

Just then, Anastasia heard Jack squeal, "NO FUCKING THANK YOU!"

The biker, angered all over again, shook the car again, beating his fat fists into the window until it started to crack. "YA DON'T WRECK ANOTHER MAN'S RIDE!" He roared.

Alarm noises started wailing in the distance, and a group of people and cars began gathering around the spectacle.

"The police!" Meghan cried.

The witch took the initiative to send a bolt of black, crackling magic towards the biker. The force sent him flying back into his trashed motorcycle, and effectively shocking the audience they'd accumulated.

"Fuck this!" Jack shrieked, relieved to hear the car finally roar to life. He slammed his right foot into the gas pedal and propelled the car forward, nearly running over passerby but not really caring. The redheaded woman slid back into her seat, heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest.

Soon, the sounds of police alarms and angry biker screams faded into the distance as the Spicers drove south, towards Nebraska, as they had originally intended. Eventually, they were back on their original path.

It was quiet for almost an hour as the cousins all composed themselves, except for a certain automated voice who stated, "In 1.1 miles, take exit 12B and merge with I-70 toward Limon."

Anastasia reached out to check it, when Jack slapped her hand and hissed, _"Don't_ even _think_ about it! Your screwing around got us into this mess!"

"Me?" The witch mimicked, growing upset. "I just_ saved our lives,_ Jack...you're _welcome,_ by the way! _You_ were the one who couldn't keep his eyes on the road!"

"If you didn't call him a Neanderthal, he wouldn't have gotten so _mad_!"

"He was _already_ mad! You were too afraid to properly start the car!"

"You just used magic on him! In front of mortals!"

"Saved. Your. Life!"

"If he isn't dead, he AND the police are coming after us!"

"I only stunned him! And GOOD! Maybe that'll teach you to drive more responsibly!"

Meghan screamed then, wordlessly and impatiently, startling the older albinos. Then she growled, "FUCKING SHUT _UP_! You think I like hearing the adults around me fighting!? Just STOP already, it's over and DONE!"

Shocked by the younger girl's outburst, Anastasia let go of the argument and crossed her arms. She side-eyed Jack, who was hunched over and pouting. He clicked off the GPS and turned the dial on the dashboard, changing to the punk channel. Fall Out Boy started to play.

"Brat," she muttered quietly, before laying her head back and thinking of ways to get back at him for that.

* * *

Two petite, perfectly manicured hands grasped the auxiliary cord and connected it with an iPad.

"Finally, time to get some real music in here!" Meghan raved, scrolling through the list of songs and albums since it was now her turn to choose the music.

Jack had begrudgingly conceded to her the cord, stating, "Don't play any of that pretentious white girl shit."

Taking the opportunity to get to know her cousin better, Anastasia turned and asked, "What music do you listen to, Meghan?"

The blonde replied off-handedly, "Oh, you know, the real music, like Lana Del Ray, Marina and the Diamonds, Zella Day..."

"So basically, pastel Tumblr mixed with Coachella," Jack described, earning him a jab in the ribs from Meghan. "Ow, what? I'm just telling the truth!"

He pointed the direction of the conversation to Anastasia, saying, "This girl runs like, eight blogs dedicated to artists she considers 'underground' and the only writers of 'good music'."

The red head peered back at Meghan, and channeling her inner Jack, took pity on her by teasing, "I can't _believe_ you've never heard of Melanie Martinez!"

Quirking an eyebrow, the teenager put down the iPad and curiously asked, "What does she write about?"

"She takes childhood themes such as playing with dolls and turns them into adult situations that we can relate to," Anastasia replied. "She's very expressive, brutally honest, too."

She pulled up a thumbnail of the dual-tone haired singer from her phone and showed it to Meghan.

The blonde studied the picture with a growing smile and squealed, "Oh, my gosh! She is _so_ pretty! I bet these detached doll arms she's wearing around her neck are metaphors for something. And the _colors_! I love this!"

"She's very talented," Anastasia replied. "Here, let me play '_Dollhouse_' for you."

The red head played the track for her, watching as Meghan's expression went from interested to surprised to plain enraptured.

"Oh my God," she gushed. "That is too good. And...a little creepy. I love her! And she...," there was hesitancy in her voice, "captured my home life so well."

Anastasia heard the saddened tone unravel at the last word and said, "No family is perfect."

Her male cousin responded, "Especially mine. You'd think my dad would be proud of me for launching my own business and being a fucking genius, but _nooo_. Little Jackie had to be an exact copy of his father or else he wasn't worth his time. And then Mom and Dad were always fighting about money, about me, and I'm pretty sure Dad stepped out on her a couple of times." A sigh. "They thought something was wrong with me when I holed myself up in the basement and turned the music up so loud that my left eardrum literally exploded, but I just didn't want to hear them fighting anymore."

"Uncle Jackson was always really tough on you," Meghan agreed, settling against her cousin's seat. "But you always had Aunt Serena, and you were her precious baby! Ever since Mommy died and Daddy remarried, he's been on my case about making nice with Rita."

Anastasia quirked an eyebrow. "Who's Rita?"

"Her stepmom," Jack replied, turning the windshield wipers on as it started to rain.

The blonde continued, "Daddy was seeing her even _before_ Mommy passed away. She came to the goddamn funeral! It made me so sick that I just stopped eating. For a year and a half I could barely touch any food without thinking it was Rita who made it. It's stupid but I kept thinking that she'd poisoned the food to get rid of me so she could have Daddy to herself. Eventually I got so sick that I passed out in church and I had to go to the hospital. Now Rita bakes me cookies and wants to go shopping with me, like that's going to make it all better."

Anastasia looked her younger cousin up and down and noted her extreme thinness. This couldn't have been more than six months ago.

The rain started to splatter haphazardly across the windshield, so Jack slowed down and turned the headlights on.

"I don't know how to feel," Anastasia murmured. "Not really. I always thought I was the apple of my mother's eye. She dressed me up and showed me off to her business friends like I was some prize. She had tutors galore waiting in line to teach me a new language, a new instrument, how to speak, how to dress, how to behave...she was priming me to be the perfect little girl and nothing short of that. I tolerated that just fine, but the she became so _obsessed_ with teaching me magic, and I don't know how she got that idea, that she stopped letting me leave the house for fear that I would tell someone and have her locked up in a psychiatric ward. She was going _insane._ If I tried discussing something that wasn't about magic or my studies, she would snap at me and change the subject. Especially if I asked about my father. She avoided that conversation like the plague. Then she died and I just realized that my father might _still_ be out there. But I haven't found him. Not yet."

The car went silent besides the violent splashing of rain against it so Jack pulled over to the side of the road and parked there, before turning the car off.

Meghan mulled it over in her head before she offered quietly, "You have us. Aunt Serena said she adopted you, so technically, you_ are_ a Spicer."

Jack asked, "You ever watch 'Lilo and Stitch?'"

"Yes," the witch readily replied, smiling a the memory of the little blue alien presenting his nearly shattered human family to the film antagonists. She settled into her seat and brought her legs up, closing her eyes.

Meghan sleepily recited, "_'This is my family. I found it...all on my own. It's small...and broken...,_'" a yawn, "_'but... it's still good_.'"

Jack listened the girls' breathing slow into gentle snores, and smiled to himself. The rain pounded into the car's sides vehemently, and thunder rolled menacingly overhead.

"Yeah," he replied to no one but the storm. "Still good."

* * *

Jack threw his head back and scoffed, "Okay, come _on! _We've all heard Lana Del Ray before, do not try and convince me that that woman is anything _but_ sexual."

Meghan huffed, "Well, at least she isn't a slut, okay? Not like that bimbo Taylor Swift or Nicki Minaj, parading on stage in her underwear with her ass hanging out for everyone to see."

Anastasia and Jack, who were actually very big fans of the former _and_ latter artists, were very offended. Especially Anastasia, who had met Ms. Minaj during last year's AMA's and found the rapper to be very pleasant and polite.

The boy genius exclaimed, "So writing songs about the opposite sex makes you a bimbo and a slut? Well, Jesus, then that makes Ed Sheeran a total whore bag, doesn't it?"

"No, but-"

Anastasia interjected quickly, "I recall _'Electra Heart'_ being very explicit. Sex, men, and commercial beauty were heavily featured."

Meghan snorted, "Marina said that album was about exploring the stereotypes surrounding women. It was an attack on society's ideals about what women should be. That's why there was so much sex in it!"

"And '_Froot_' didn't talk about sex? _'Blue_' was all about begging for a one night stand!" Jack protested. "And don't get me started on the title track! I mean, _'Oh, my body is ready, ready for your love'_. You cannot be that _deaf_, Meghan!"

The blonde was silent for a few moments, trying to come up with a counterattack but uncoiling it in her head the way her cousins did. Finally, she sighed, conceding, "Okay, so maybe _I'm_ stereotyping. Ya happy? You can stop attacking me, now."

Anastasia sighed, "We're not trying to attack you, Meghan."

"Speak for yourself," Jack stated, grinning cruelly at the fifteen year old through the rearview mirror.

This time, the witch jabbed him in the ribs and said, "We're only trying to tell you that women should be allowed to express themselves any way they feel comfortable with. And singing about sex or relationships doesn't automatically make you a whore or a slut (and those terms are meant to crush sexual freedom in women, anyways). So Nicki has a big ass, what of it?"

Meghan crossed her arms as she leaned back, propping her feet up on the juncture between Jack and Anastasia's seats. "But she's objectifying herself for men. What's so great about that?"

"Should she not be proud of her body?" Anastasia replied, a little offended. "I have a big ass, too, and I was made fun of because of it for a long time. Boys grabbed it, girls called me a slut. This was when I was_ 12_, mind you. Imagine how I felt being objectified for something like that! I was mortified! I would wear long skirts and baggy shirts to keep it hidden until one day my Spanish tutor pulled me aside and said, 'Tu debe poseer hasta que este'. That means 'you should own up to this'. So I did. I became confident, wearing the clothes that I wanted and soon, the other girls around me stopped being nasty and started taking pride in their own bodies. I'm not saying we were in thongs and thigh-highs, but we were comfortable in our skin. And when boys tried to put their hands on us, we just broke them."

Jack said, "I would've called the cops."

Anastasia responded dryly, "But how many people have been told they were asking for it?"

The blonde let out a sound of understanding and replied, "I guess I got this all wrong."

Shaking her head, Anastasia replied, "Society has a long way to go, besides. Now, play us some Marina. I'm in a 'frooty' mood."

Her male counterpart slapped a hand over his eyes and howled with laughter, "That was_ terrible!_"

"Lame!" Meghan snorted in agreement. Nonetheless, she plugged the cord into her iPad and pressed the album icon, allowing the music to uplift the air.

"Hey, speaking of fruit, I got some Gushers in the back. Meg, look under your seat, would ya?" Jack asked, stomach growling.

Anastasia clucked her tongue, "Jack, you need real food for breakfast. You can have your fruit snacks after you eat. Besides, I'm hungry too and I'm craving a corndog."

Meghan concurred, adding, "And I have to pee."

The boy genius pouted, muttering to himself, "Corndogs aren't exactly breakfast foods either, buttercup."

"I prefer Blossom, actually," Anastasia returned, smirking.

Jack pulled up to the nearest gas station. The sunrise was almost over, bathing the car in orange light and renewed warmth after the cold, rainy night practically froze them over. It already set them back two hours because of how bad it was. Jack had been motivated to keep going, claiming that he was used to navigating through bad weather, but that was before he saw a young bicyclist get flung off his ride because a moving van accidently crashed into him.

"Okay, bathroom, food, gas, and then we're out. We lost enough time as it is," the eldest cousin commanded. "Let's go, let's go."

The youngest Spicer hopped out of the car and sprinted inside, bladder threatening to burst. Anastasia chuckled at her as she gathered her wallet and entered the store. She ordered two corndogs and a cup of strong coffee, loaded with sugar and cream.

She may have lost her kan but she had long since become dependent on coffee to remain as patient and alert as she was. She knew it was unhealthy, but if she needed to stay awake for something or other, did she really care if it wasn't healthy?

_Whoa_, she thought, was Jack was starting to rub off on her!

Taking a seat at one of the tables, the young woman took a bite of her breakfast and chewed slowly, trying to savor the taste, even though it had just come off the skillet and was currently searing her tongue off.

As the witch fanned her mouth, Meghan treaded out of the bathroom and bought herself a bag of chips and some iced coffee. Jack, after buying gas, joined them with his bag of Gushers. He popped one in his mouth while looking Anastasia in the eye.

"Fuck yo rules," he declared.

Anastasia rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee, licking some excess sugar from her lips.

Meghan sipped her iced coffee and asked, "So, do you have dates for Jill and Vic's wedding?"

"Well, I know we get plus one's," the older woman stated. "But I figured I wouldn't need one."

"Why?"

She took another sip of coffee. "I feel better off on my own, as strange as that sounds—" Jack opened his mouth to remind her of how she behaved after she thought she had been abandoned, but she cut him off, "—When I want to be."

The answer seemed to have satisfied Meghan, as the witch had struck her as a loner type, quiet as she was. She moved on to Jack, teasing, "What about you, Evil Boy Genius? Are you taking Chameleon Bot?"

"No," Jack affirmed. "I _do_ have a date, and he's prettier than any guy you could ever dream of having."

Meghan's jaw dropped at the word "he", but Anastasia grinned. Her cousin had told her about Spencer, the handsome brunette with a dazzling smile and charming freckles dusting the bridge of his nose and apples of his cheeks. The way Jack spoke of him, ruby eyes nearly glittering with passion, it made Anastasia want to giggle in utter joy for him. She would love to see Spencer become 'Spencer Spicer', but the idea made Jack blush like a schoolgirl.

The Goth grabbed the extra corndog and took a luxurious bite from it, stating, "That's right, Jack's queer. Big surprise, huh? I like boys, girls, and everything in between."

The youngest cousin didn't say anything for a few moments before she asked, "Do your parents know?"

"Mom, yes. And she's thrilled. Dad, well, he'll find out at the wedding when his son is slow dancing with another man. He won't freak out, not while Jill's having the whole thing filmed," the boy genius replied, shrugging.

Anastasia knew that Jack was excited to see his father's reaction, or lack thereof. Uncle Jackson had an appearance to keep, so he would most likely sit stone-faced in a corner, face turning a bright shade of purple while his son flamboyantly showed off his date. It _would_ be fun to watch.

Meghan held up her right hand, saying, "I promise I won't say a word to him."

The sound of an explosion sounded off somewhere, startling the cousins and the clerk, who immediately pulled out a rifle and cocked it. He made eyes at the patrons and warned, "Don't move 'er yer each gettin' a bullet 'tween the eyes, ye hear?"

As he prowled out of the building's back door, Jack leaned forward and whispered, "On the count of three, we make a run for it."

"But that guy just said if we moved, we'd be dead," Meghan whispered back.

Anastasia sighed and guzzled down the rest of her coffee before blinking them back into the car.

"I..." Meghan started, puzzled by the sudden change in environment.

The witch, now in the front seat, revved the car up, and started reversing when the clerk appeared, shouting obscenities and shooting at the tires. While Meghan started screaming and Jack frantically ducked his head under the dashboard, Anastasia expertly maneuvered the car out of the way and sped down the highway.

She spotted the giant green lizard flying just feet above them towards the clouds at the same time Jack exclaimed, "Is that_ Dojo?!"_

"I think so," Anastasia bemused, looking at where the dragon had just been. A mushroom cloud had formed hundreds of feet away, indicating that it was a _huge_ explosion.

Forgetting about the plan to move on, the witch steered the car in the direction of the cloud. Jack let out an exasperated groan as Anastasia crashed through a cornfield and struck a scarecrow. Cornhusks, scraps of flannel and plenty of straw were strewn left and right across the windshield.

"You know that voice in your head that warns you not to go towards potentially dangerous situations? You don't have that!" Jack shrieked, clutching his seatbelt for dear life.

The GPS decided to speak then, "Recalculating, recalculating..."

Jack ripped it from its chord, effectively silencing that nagging voice, and chucked it into the backseat, narrowly missing Meghan's head.

Eventually, they made it to an open space, at the base of the mushroom cloud that was starting to fade. Smoking, black grass stained the ground. Standing atop of the grass, albeit wobbly, was Chase Young.

Anastasia immediately halted the car and ripped the keys from the engine, letting them fall in Jack's lap.

She hurried to the warlord's side, exclaiming, "What happened?!"

The warlord's knees locked and he started to fall, so Anastasia reached out and caught him, letting him rest against her for a moment. That's when she noted the deep gash running down Chase's temple.

"Unh...the mmmonksss...idiot Perrrrr-peddddrosa an...and Eye of Da-aashi," the immortal was able to articulate, though his words were mildly slurred and hard to understand. He tried to disentangle himself from the witch, tried to stand, but he immediately fell to one knee and grunted in pain. "Stupid...monks."

Anastasia frowned. "You have a concussion," she concluded, helping Chase up but refusing to let go of him. "I know you have enhanced healing and you'll likely be fine in a few hours, but it might be dangerous for you to try and teleport anywhere with your mind in such a frail state. I don't want you 'magically appearing' above a busy highway where you could easily get hurt."

Chase pouted, but he didn't refuse. Thankfully, his common sense was still very much in tact. He allowed himself to be dragged back to the car, where Jack stood, armed with his only weapon, the Monkey Staff.

"What the hell? Chase?" The boy genius questioned, letting the Monkey Staff down completely. He quickly moved out of the way to let the immortal climb into the passenger seat.

Anastasia directed Chase to lay his head back before she turned to the very confused Meghan and commanded, "First-aid kit. Now."

The teenager obeyed, handing over the little white box to her older cousin. Anastasia expertly gathered a few gauze pads, a handful of alcohol swabs, and a tube of Neosporin before she got to work.

Jack watched as the witch practically climbed into the immortal's lap to get to the cut, wiping away the excess blood and removing the visible dirt and dust. He watched as she freely pulled back any hair that got in the way, or tugged the skin down to clean it better. And the strangest part: Chase was _allowing_ it.

How in the_ fuck_ did he suddenly get so comfortable with her?

It had taken Jack _years_ just to get Chase to look at him without total disgust, without being called "worm" or "insect" every time he was addressed. But in one year, with at least four months of absence, Anastasia managed to unlock a deep, unspoken bond with Chase. He never displayed a sense of disgust or displeasure in her company, maybe just a slight annoyance when she challenged him. Normally, people who challenged the almighty Chase Young would be sent off running with their tails between their legs, if the immortal even let them _keep_ their legs.

No, the witch was a special case, a loophole in Chase's strict laws of interacting with the outside world.

But then...

Chase brought up a gloved hand and clutched the woman's wrist, a low, rumbling growl erupting from his chest, "_Enough_."

Anastasia held a gasp in, instead opting to back off. She let him apply his own gauze bandage, only helping to apply the adhesive. Once the warlord was bandaged and treated, he settled back into the seat and closed his eyes.

The pale cousins each returned to their seats, Anastasia in the driver's seat, Jack and Meghan sitting in the back, and now an immortal dragon lord in the passenger side. They decided not to bother the man and let him rest.

After an hour and a half, of almost complete silence sans Meghan occasionally reading a joke from her Tumblr dashboard and the older cousins melting into a fit of soundless titters, Chase stirred from his seat and grunted.

"H-he's awake," Meghan squeaked, poking her older cousin's shoulder.

"Jeez, Chase, less than a week without Anna around and you're already off your rocker?" The boy genius teased, screaming when Chase reached out to slap him upside the head.

Luckily, his motor skills were still a little sloppy, so Jack was able to avoid a concussion from the warlord's hand.

Anastasia continued to drive, trying to figure out what the ancient warlord had been doing...fighting for a Wu, getting hit with the Eye of Dashi, or more likely, dodging the blast from said Wu and hitting his head on something hard and sharp.

She glanced at him, while still trying to keep her focus on the road. "Was it an important Wu?" She asked.

"Not...p-particularly," Chase responded, words still slurred but much more articulate. "It was the... L-Luna... SSSstone, and it allowed the... user to see... perfectly in complete and utter ...d-darkness. That... being said, I am a d-ddragon, and... as s_uch_ I possess ...20/20 ...night vi-vision." H sighed, like the act of speaking tired him out. "...I do _not_ ...w-wish to sssshare that... ability... with the...li-li-li_kes_ of the... monks."

Anastasia hummed thoughtfully and concluded, "But the monks got the jump on you and now they have the Luna Stone."

Chase nodded. "Precisely."

The boy genius sitting behind him said, "Don't worry about it, Chase. I could get it back for ya after the wedding."

"I'm... perfectly... c-c-capable of ...of...retrieving... the Luna Stone... on my own, SS-Spi_cer_," he retorted, obviously upset for being mistaken as weakened.

"And yet," the witch started. "Here we are."

Chase glared daggers at her, but Anastasia just grinned smugly at the road. Jack glanced at his cousin, then at idol, before groaning, "Oh, come ON! I woulda gotten my ass kicked for a comment like that! NOT fair!"

The redheaded albino blushed suddenly, realizing that for the hundredth time, she'd overstepped her boundaries in speaking with the warlord. She never really meant to. She'd been raised as a smug bastard child, and so she spoke like one often, especially when threatened.

"I'm sorry," she told Chase, honestly.

The immortal smirked, saying, "Oh, do not worry...you are...most definitely getting...the sparring...session of your...life when you return...to the citadel."

Meghan piped in, genuinely confused, "Wait, do you mean sexually or otherwise?"

"Oh my God, Meg," Jack muttered, clearly embarrassed_ for_ the teen. "Shut _up_."

Anastasia took in a sharp breath, awaiting the tense and awkward air to dissipate. Her face was now a bright, tomato red as she tried to keep her eyes focused only on the road ahead, because,_ damn it all_, she could feel Chase's eyes directly ON her.

* * *

They were making much better timing. There were no more idle distractions or medical emergencies or life-threatening accidents to deal with. Jack grilled Anastasia on Russian history, and quite loudly called her out on anything she didn't know. Occasionally, Chase would chime in with an answer before the witch could reply and it would earn him a blood-red glare, though he certainly didn't bother to give a damn.

Jack's mother called, sounding slightly worried and nervously asking how long they would need, how they were faring, and if they were running out of money. For kicks, Meghan screamed bloody murder and pounded her fists against the windows. Anastasia quickly caught on and began making similar noises, effectively causing her aunt to believe her nieces and son were being murdered. Jack tried to shush the girls multiple times, assuring his mother that they were alright and no one was in the process of being killed. Finally, the older woman backed off, less worried than before. But then...

As Mrs. Spicer started to say her goodbyes, Chase let out a loose growl.

It was deep, coming from the diaphragm of the warlord, and it was grating, tearing painfully through the air like Saran wrap ripping apart. It was indeed inhuman, for no mortal creature could ever make a sound so utterly _petrifying._

The car was completely silent for a few moments, the Spicers all frozen in their spots with their hearts beating maddeningly fast against their ribcages. After all, that was a predatory sound the dragon had made.

Then Jack's mother screamed through the receiver, "**_WHAT WAS THAT!?"_**

Chase smirked in satisfaction and that's when the albinos realized he'd just wanted in on the game. Meghan cried from laughing so hard, or maybe the tears were from sheer relief that she wasn't getting her head ripped off by a supernatural dragon overlord. Either way, Anastasia had to park the car on the side of the highway and pat the teenager on the back to keep her from choking on her own saliva.

Then Meghan popped in an Ariana Grande album and the three albinos proceeded to sing their hearts out: Jack off-key, Anastasia emotional, and Meghan unforgiving on the high notes. But that was before Chase grew annoyed and threatened to drive his fist through the dashboard if they didn't cease immediately.

To earn back his good graces, Anastasia magicked one of Jack's snacks. Once he ravenously opened a bag of Gushers, it exploded in his face and over the front of his shirt.

Everyone but the boy genius erupted into laughter, leaving Jack to wipe a gooey blob of blue off his lips and sputter, "Oh, right, prank the Goth kid. The _queer_ Goth kid. Fuck you, Anna."

"Oh, Jack!" The witch replied, swallowing her laughs. "It's just a joke...lighten up."

The boy genius grunted, "Just go the nearest rest stop...God! I'm so fucking..._sticky_! I can't believe _all this_ is inside a Gusher bag!"

"Would you still eat your beloved fruit-flavored treats now that they've betrayed you so, Spicer?" The immortal in the passenger side snorted.

Jack stuck out his tongue, retorting, "MY Gushers didn't betray me, they were forced to do this against their will!"

* * *

The Goth was able to freshen up in the otherwise filthy McDonald's unisex restroom, changing from his Marilyn Manson t-shirt to a striped sweatshirt with long sleeves. It was all he had packed in case it would get too cold in Ontario.

He stepped out, wiping excess fruity goo from his nostrils as he turned a corner and found Anastasia buying food.

"Since I exploded your only source of sustenance," she explained, grinning cheekily. "Do you want cheese on your Big Macs?"

Mouth salivating at the offer of multiple Big Macs, he replied, "Pssh. Do you even need to ask?"

The witch nodded in understanding and Jack went to go sit with Chase and Meghan in a booth. He slid in slyly beside the warlord and whispered, "How ya feelin'?"

Chase shrugged, sipping at some water. "Better. I must admit, this 'Spicer road trip' was quite an experience. Sobering, even."

Meghan slipped her sunglasses back on, exclaiming, "That's how we DO!"

"Stop embarrassing yourself, Meg," Jack reprimanded, before turning back to Chase. "What do you mean, 'was'? Are you leaving, already?"

Anastasia came by suddenly, carrying large platters of fries and burgers. "Who's leaving?" She asked, glancing at the warlord. Her red eyes looked disappointed, to say the least.

Chase explained, "I'm feeling much more like myself, thanks to your nursing skills. However, I must be on my way to retrieve the Luna Stone and vent some spleen on the monks for having the audacity to injure me."

The witch fought a pout, saying, "Well, at least eat with us. I didn't buy all this food for nothing."

"I only eat real food, and Lao Mang Long, not this greased up garbage," the warlord replied nonchalantly. "I thank you for you offer, though."

Jack was about to protest, claiming that everyone deserved a cheat day, when the door to the establishment swung open.

The light-hearted jingle did nothing to prepare them for the sight of the heavy set biker they'd tangled with earlier on in their trip, which was five states ago. Not only did he look pissed, he had _friends._ Burly, surly looking men littered in black leather and tattoos and bandanas. They immediately spotted the albinos and the Asian man, who stuck out like sore thumbs in a predominantly black neighborhood.

Shakily, Jack whispered, "Isn't that the douchebag who tried to kill us in South Dakota?"

"Mm-hm," Anastasia responded, fearfully setting the food down as the biker gang approached them.

There were sour frowns on the men's faces, and murder in their eyes. "I knew I would find you," the gang leader growled in his thick, Southern accent. He cracked his hairy knuckles and neck.

A monotone voice declared on the intercom, "Sir, there is no fighting allowed in this establishment. Please refrain from committing any criminal acts or else the police will be called."

The leader biker spun around to see a bored, brown-skinned woman in a McDonald's brand uniform and cap holding the microphone. It was clear she'd seen her share of this sort of thing and was having none of it today.

Surprisingly, the motorcyclists obeyed, making eyes at the offending group. "We gotta score to settle. Parkin' lot, five minutes," he ordered, before he strode out of the restaurant with his crew, boot heels clicking menacingly as he walked out the door.

"I swear I don't get paid enough for this," the cashier muttered.

Jack ran his slender, white fingers through his hair, "Okay, okay, let's just teleport outta here like last time. We won't make a scene and no one will get their ass kicked." He looked to Anastasia, who calmly stood and started making her way to the aforementioned parking lot. His jaw fell to the table and he shrilly exclaimed, "OH MY GOD YOU'RE ACTUALLY GOING TO FIGHT THEM."

Anastasia turned to face him very slowly and gave him her best resting-bitch face, stating, "I never back down from a challenge."

The albino genius spun around to face Chase, questioning him fearfully, "And you're gonna _let_ her go?"

Snorting, Chase shoved Jack off the seat and followed the witch out the door, replying, "I hope for your sake you aren't insulting my mentoring skills, Spicer."

Jack caught himself from falling as he watched the warlord and the witch go, rushing worriedly after them, blathering nonstop about premature funerals, while Meghan picked up a Big Mac, unwrapped its packaging, and bit into it.

"Cool beans."

* * *

"Lookie here, fellas! They decided to fight after all!" The lead biker shrieked like a hyena, his half-drunk self tipping a beer bottle towards the two magical persons. "How 'bout it, Little Red Ridin' Hood? Who's that wit' ya, Chinkie the Wolf?"

Anastasia had to clench her fists tight and _force_ down the urge to attack, though, gods, was the man a racist fool! And come to think of it, maybe she'd have to rid herself of the red hair, only because the biker's comment left her feeling dirty.

The biker settled back against his motorcycle, which still looked a little scratched up from its encounter with Jack's Mercedes, and laughed until his lungs threatened to pop out. His gang laughed too, until one of them pointed at Anastasia.

"Hey," he started, voice drawling and low-pitched, "Ain't she got a lil' Asian in 'er, too?"

"Yeah!" Replied another, taking a sloppy swig of beer. "She's got some 'a that in 'er eyes. See?"

He made the mistake of getting too close to the witch and trying to touch the moderate epicanthic folds of her eyelids. Anastasia grasped his wrist tight and jerked it up, before flipping the man over on his side. He landed on the pavement with a hard CRACK, followed by a guttural moan. As the foolish biker folded his arms around his thoracic cavity and moaned in anguish, Chase grinned at his apprentice.

The other motorcyclists were not amused, charging at her with their massive fists aimed at her face.

If there was any anxiety about taking on al those men at once, it did not show on Anastasia's face. Instead, she unleashed her MMA fighter and ducked forward, hands balled up in fists in front of her face. The first man came running, his bow legs giving a wide range for the witch to duck her head between them and push up, launching him over her shoulders. He landed behind her, on his head, dazed.

The next man got to her from the side, slinging her over his head like a burlap sack. The red head reached down, chopping her hand between his legs into the very sensitive package settled there. Yelping, the biker dropped her. The witch landed on her palms, and decided to maintain that position when she drove a foot into his right knee. As he buckled, she swept her leg beneath each of his and watched him lose his balance, falling flat on his back.

When she stood, she heard Jack call out her name and suddenly, two thick, tattooed arms were crushing her neck. For a moment, she panicked, but then she remembered a trick she tried on Chase once.

She closed a hand over the man's right arm and leaned forward, stepping out of the clutch just enough to drive her left fist into his groin as hard as she possibly could. When he doubled over, she escaped his grip and let him stumble for a second before kicking his hip so hard that he flew back several feet, skidding painfully across the pavement.

Needless to say, the warlord had refused to speak to her for two whole days.

Anastasia then glanced up and saw the original biker staring at her with wide, crusty green eyes, as if surprised that a woman, let alone a woman of _color_, could do so much damage. But she had; his gang of friends lay wasted, one with shattered ribs and a dislocated elbow, another with a skull fracture and a cervical spine injury. The others would suffer from swollen and sore testicles, a fractured knee bone that would never truly heal, a cracked iliac crest, and a severe case of road rash.

He let out a wordless shout, before mounting his bike and revving the engine. Anastasia was confused, taking a step back as she watched the man take off. He disappeared behind the corner of the restaurant, the sound of the vehicle growing fainter and fainter before it suddenly got louder and louder.

Before she knew it, Anastasia was facing a raging biker practically skyrocketing towards her on his motorcycle. With how fast he was going, it only gave her a few moments to react. In her peripheral vision, she could see Chase lean forward, like he was going to throw himself in front of her. But she had no time to worry about Chase. She broke into a sprint and, at the exact moment that motorcycle threatened to slam into her, she _leapt._

Left leg forward, bent with the ball of her foot touching the front of the motorcycle. Going against the force of the vehicle that was pushing her back, Anastasia propelled herself forward and ran across the top of the motorcycle, catching a glimpse of the biker's horrified face before she tackled him to the ground.

They landed on the hard pavement, amidst the dust and smoke emanating from the motorcycle, which was left with no rider. The biker scrambled away from her and stood, practically shaking as he watched his ride lose direction and launch itself into nearby traffic. Then two eighteen wheelers, a minivan, and a police cruiser proceeded to mangle the motorcycle into crunched up red, white and blue metal scraps.

"Ya little _gook_!" The man roared at Anastasia, reaching into his pocket and digging out a pocket knife.

He didn't get a chance to use it, of course. Chase was already behind him, knocking him unconscious with a swift hit to his spine.

Anastasia looked down at the unconscious man with wide eyes. "Don't worry," Chase said, stepping nonchalantly over the man's body. "He'll only be paralyzed from the shoulders down."

"Well, no," she replied sheepishly. "I was just confused because he didn't just give up when he had the chance."

"And you gave him plenty of those," the warlord replied with smirk.

Jack piped in, clapping excitedly, "YASSS BITCH, SLAYYYYY!"

The sound of a police alarm, not from the likely totaled police cruiser just down the street, but from further away, echoed in the air and the three of them rushed back inside to get Meghan (and their food) and disappear before they got arrested.

After all, there lay multiple, injured (and one permanently paralyzed), men and a serious motorcycle accident involving several people.

It just wouldn't look good on the Spicer name.

* * *

"Holy Mother of_ GOD_ riding a Lamborghini in Heaven!" Jack exclaimed, walking into the lavishly decorated hotel. He read off the sign in front of the lobby. "'Welcome to Niagara Falls, Ontario. Enjoy your stay'. You bet your sweet ass, I will!"

Meghan ran into the lobby sobbing wordlessly, falling to her knees as she shrieked, "Land! Sweet, polished, granite tiled _land_!"

Sighing from secondhand embarrassment, Anastasia parked her luggage against the doorway for a moment and smiled up at Chase, who'd been so kind as to walk them into the establishment. "Thank you for being here," she said, genuinely. "I know this isn't really your thing."

"'Thing'?"

Anastasia tried her best to explain, "Rich white people, snobbish caterers, tight bow ties, horrible fights breaking out between jealous housewives just when everyone's about to go home that result in painful bald spots and lots of broken wine glasses."

Chase snickered, "All that for a wedding?"

The witch shrugged, "According to Jack, that's how Spicer parties usually go down."

"My," the warlord responded, feigning distress. "I only pray no one tries to pull out _my_ hair!"

Anastasia chuckled, "You'd break their fingers if they tried. Still, it'd be the most interesting date I've ever been on."

"All the more reason for me to break someone's fingers," Chase returned, pausing for a brief moment before continuing, "You fought very well today. Your form and skills have both improved _exponentially."_

That made the witch giddy because, when she started with Chase, her fighting skills were next to none. All her flexibility came from yoga practice, and her energy from her (as Jack put it) her serious lack of impulse control and massive ego. And now, she was amazing!

All thanks to Chase.

"I have a wonderful teacher," she replied, her lips turning up in a sly smile.

If anything, Chase looked about ready to blush. In fact, the slightest pink tinge took hold of the warlord's cheeks. To Anastasia, it was really an endearing sight to see.

Suddenly, as if to purposefully break the moment up, Meghan piped in, "Ugh...guys...I forgot my phone charger at home!"

* * *

**Author's Note: HOLY SHIT THAT TOOK FOREVER (Five days and counting!) **

**Please fave and review!**


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